The Rise of the Consultant Hero
by ApocalypticPhoenix
Summary: In the aftermath of the Second Giant War, Perseus Jackson left the world of the gods behind. He forged himself anew – as one Sherlock Holmes. Once he held the potential to be the greatest of heroes, but he rejected that destiny in favour of solving crimes. All the while, he is unaware that fate is not so easily thwarted...
1. A Betrayal

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, or indeed anything remotely belonging to Sherlock and Percy Jackson and the Olympians/Heroes of Olympus.

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Chapter 1

Howling wind. Forks of lightning blazing down from the sky. A raging torrent of rain battering the earth. The capricious weather seemed to _pulse_ between sunny and storming as the gods had seen only twice before – both times with the storm giant Typhon. A tiny figure – Percy - was at the centre of the storm, floating in mid-air, seemingly completely unaware of the tempest seething around him. His once vibrant sea green eyes were now dull and murky, like matted seaweed, boring into the slighter, grey-eyed, blonde woman standing across from him. Fourteen beautiful, twenty-foot figures lay slumped, golden ichor pooling around them – the Olympians. Seven smaller figures dotted the mountainside, blood slowly ebbing onto the sacrosanct stones of Olympus: Frank, Hazel, Leo, Piper, Jason, Nico, Reyna – all of them brought down by the Gaea and the woman he was now facing.

'We shall meet again, my dearest _Seaweed Brain_', a soft, velvety voice – almost Siren-like - purred out. 'You fools may prevented Gaea's rising, but there is a power that exceeds even hers…and the next time we face each other, we'll finish this once and for all – that's a promise'. Annabeth smirked down at him, and stepped backward into a chasm that suddenly gaped open behind her. From the familiar dark gravity that threatened to pull him in, he could tell that it led directly to Tartarus. And judging from her victorious smirk, she was doing so willingly…which meant that she must have betrayed them during their trip through the pit – perhaps even before!

Abruptly, the swirling vortex around Percy began to subside and crumble in on itself, until Percy's form flopped down onto the mountain slopes. He started screaming and pounding the ground until his knuckles started bleeding.

_This solves nothing_, he berated himself. _I need to treat the others NOW!_

But the seductive darkness was so inviting, the urge to just sleep so tempting…

'Annabeth…traitor…why?' he whispered, as his world gave way to a inky black. The last thing he remembered was a pair of worried silvery yellow eyes, identical to the moon, gazing back at him.

'Perseus? Can you hear me? Stay with me, OK? Perseus? Percy? We're losing you…'

** Dream

_-Tartarus-_

_Green and black eyes, so similar to his own, looked on dispassionately as Percy thrashed against the earthen ropes that bound him. _

'_Again, Polybotes', Gaea's voice echoed throughout the cavern. And again, a scaly green hand punched into his abdomen. _

'_You wouldn't believe how long it's been since I've had a demigod's blood,' he hissed down at Percy almost conversationally. Even as he continued to struggle feebly, Percy could _feel_ his own blood turning against him as it rapidly began converting into putrid pale green poison. _

_Yet apparently even his own body turning against him wasn't enough to get him to crack, Gaea thought furiously. They had been at this for days and in all that time, Jackson hadn't screamed once. She tilted her head to the side as she sensed a presence outside the cavern – Porphyrion, she realised. The cave wall gaped open suddenly as she flicked her hand, allowing her son in._

'_Mother, we have managed to capture the spawn of Athena. She was much more…compliant' the giant king boomed, throwing down a pale blond girl at the ground, her fall cushioned only by the earthen binds that immediately began snaking around her. _

'_Excellent work, my son; in the meantime, you may have the prize of breaking Jackson. Polybotes, with me, we must gather your brothers', Gaea's voice echoed throughout the cavern. '_You _might be impregnable against torture Jackson, but I'm not quite so sure that Ms Chase will be quite so intransigent.'_

What do I do, damn it what do I do_, Percy started panicking. _I can't let them torture her, she has too much information, if she undergoes torture then we risk losing the entire war effort here and now…I need to escape and rescue her.

_As Percy contemplated all this, Gaea spoke once more, ' Last chance to reconsider…no? Well then, on your head be the horrors that befall Ms Chase from this moment on'. That beautiful but terrible face smiled down at him coolly, and the small pile of dirt that served as her avatar in Tartarus crumbled, whilst Polybotes similarly faded away into a pile earth and seaweed. _

'_I thank you, mother', the remaining behemoth rumbled, blank white eyes boring into the Hades-pale demigod, barely noticing them leave._

'_I'm going to enjoy this for the humiliation you and your friends have caused me Jackson', the giant king snarled down at him. 'I would say that it's nothing personal…but then I'd be lying. Let's see what barbequed sea spawn tastes like…any words before we begin, Jackson?'_

_The green-eyed demigod inhaled deeply, as the sneering giant pulled out his spear and began twirling it around. As the crackling sound of electricity rapidly began filling the cavern, he called deep upon the reserves of power he had knowingly tapped into only once before, when facing the shades in Alaska, ignoring the painful feeling that began to suffuse his entire being. This time however, he knew that he could hold nothing back, he would have to hit the behemoth in front of him with everything he had if he wanted to put him down for sure. _

'_Did you know, Porphyrion, that as the son of Poseidon, I am sometimes called Aquaman?' he threw out._

_As he had expected, his non sequitur puzzled the giant king – freezing him long enough that he was able to muster enough strength to blast him backwards with a jet of water that cracked his gargantuan head against the walls of the cavern. All that was left of the Gigantes' head was a pile of golden dust, slowly swirling back into shape. _

Aquaman indeed_, he thought wryly. _Shatter, _he commanded the earthen ropes. For a moment, they bulged, resisting him, before a series of cracks spread along their lengths – without Gaea present, enforcing those bonds, they weren't strong enough to hold him down, he noted. _

_With but a thought, the water on the ground surrounded him, a pale cocoon that should keep him iin peak condition at least for the next few minutes, he judged. He gently brushed the earthen ropes that enveloped his beloved. _Shatter_, he commanded once again. This time, the cables simply collapsed into clods of dirt. He paused for a moment as he saw a pale gleaming blade at her side – her treasured knife. Shaking his head at the distraction, he picked her up and began to run. _

_-At Mt Olympus- (Insert the above interlude between Mark of Athena and the Tartarus portion of House of Hades)_

_Percy paused for a moment as they reached the summit of Mt Olympus. _Beautiful_, he thought, taking a few moments to breathe in the crisp, bitingly cold mountain air. Taking in this pristine, undisturbed natural paradise, he promised himself that he would visit again in the very near future…if he _had_ a future, the stray thought crossed his mind. Judging from the awed looks on his companions' faces, they were thinking the same thing as well, he noticed. He leaned in towards Chase's side and inhaled deeply, casually removing her knife as his arms slipped around her, pretending to inhale her scent as he nuzzled her hair. _

'_Tell me, Annabeth,' he said loudly. 'How long has it been since you started working for Gaea? A few days? Weeks?' _

'_WHAT!' the others shouted, whilst she paled and backed away. _

'_What are you talking about? Percy, she's your girlfriend for god's sake!' Thalia shouted at him._

'_I-I don't understand,' Chase stammered out. 'Me, a traitor? Per-Percy, we've known each other for over five years! Do you really-'_

'_W__hen you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,__however improbable__, must be the truth,' he whispered, as he started circling her; to the others he seemed almost feverish, with a strange gleam in his eye that set the others on edge. 'Did you really think that after all the battlefield experience I've had that I wouldn't realise that they _deliberately refrained_ from inflicting any serious wounds on you while they were, quote, unquote, _torturing_ you? You're the enemy, and for a being of Gaea's power, it's a simple enough matter to keep a dying person on the edge of life and death – I can attest to that from experience'. _

_As he said this, he motioned to his body, still marred with flaring, pale white scars from his torture in Tartarus. _

'_Oddly enough, you didn't require that much medical attention _at all_,' he continued, as he continued circling around, his movements so silent, so furtive that he reminded his companions of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent. 'That was the first clue. The next thing that tipped me off was when I saw that you had your knife back – I saw it fall into Tartarus myself. As we fell into the Cocytus and I _definitely_ don't remember either of us diving back into the River of Lamentation to recover it, it goes without saying that an enemy –the only other beings present at the time- must have returned it to you in Tartarus; now why on earth would _anyone_ return a weapon to their hated enemy, unless they weren't in fact an enemy?'_

_As he spat out these words, horror coated his friends' faces, as they backed away from Annabeth. They played their parts _perfectly_ Percy thought to himself in satisfaction; his decision to approach them separately earlier aboard the Argo II had been wise indeed, he congratulated himself. _

'_So tell me, _Wise Girl_,' he snarled out. 'Just. How. Long. Have. You. Been. A. Traitor?'_

'_These accusations are ridiculous Seaweed Brain, j-just calm down,' Chase pleaded. _

'_Then you won't mind swearing on the Styx that you're not a traitor then?'_

'_W-what? This is ridiculous! I'm –'_

'_There's really no point in trying to hide it, Chase,' Nico hissed out. 'The only person who knew I was trying to locate the Doors of Death in the Underworld was _you_. That and the fact that I swear on the damned River Styx that I was _pushed_ into the pit by an invisible person is more than enough evidence to indict you, since you're the only one to have an invisibility cap'._

'_And we could all tell how Percy's decision to join forces with the Hunters of Artemis to eliminate as many active Giants as possible shook you – I'm sure you regret teaching him war tactics now,' Thalia smiled poisonously at her. _

'_I-I see,' Annabeth whispered, before straightening up and smirking confidently, a stark contrast to the wavering girl of a few minutes before. 'Then I guess we should get this party started'._

_And the mountainside exploded in light as the remaining Gigantes – Porphyrion, Polybotes, Enceladus, Ephialtes, Otis - descended upon the demigod heroes._

Father, Uncles, Lady Artemis and all other available Olympians, help us, _Percy prayed. _

_-Towards the end of the battle-_

_Percy ducked and weaved around Porphyrion's spear as both the giant and his psychotic former girlfriend attacked him. 'Even the Olympians are powerless before our might, Jackson', the giant king ground out. 'How terribly…weak.'_

_Indeed, all around them, the Olympians seemed to have fallen and faltered; Hera, Demeter, Aphrodite, Dionysus, Hermes, Hestia and Hephaestus were already lying on the ground, amidst a steadily growing puddle of golden ichor; Zeus, Poseidon and Hades were doing their best with Jason, Piper and Leo to overcome the combined forces of Polybotes and a veritable army of monsters throwing themselves up the mountain. Even as he watched, Apollo and Hestia fell alongside Frank and Hazel, though not without taking out Ephialtes and Otis in a spectacular explosion that had the entire mountain rumbling, sending them all stumbling back._

_Percy frowned. _Where was Artemis? Lady Artemis, if you're listening, now would definitely be a good time to show up_, he thought as loudly as possible. _Please?

_As he swayed back and forth, nimbly defending himself against the storm of blades that hailed down upon him, a chill shot through his body as he was, slowly but surely, being pushed back. If someone didn't intervene, he was going to die here._

_A silvery blur suddenly passed in front of him, striking Annabeth's knife as she drew it back to strike at him. An arrow!_

'Goddess?_'_ _Porphyrion snarled out as he pulled back and raised his guard. _

'_Not quite, but she's not far behind me,' a voice called out. _

That voice, I know that voice…, _he thought._

'_Thalia?' Chase spat out in surprise, weaving around the lightning bolts that started raining down upon her. _

_Thalia opted not to reply, instead, she launched herself at the girl she had once considered as her little sister. She was poetry in motion, almost gliding across the ground as she unleashed a storm – both figuratively and literally – upon her opponent. Her silver hunting knives were wheels of light, in constant motion as she spun and slashed at Annabeth, pale electric blue eyes gleaming like ice as she tried to kill her erstwhile best friend. _

_Percy was so engrossed in their battle that he just barely managed to avoid Porphyrion's spear. He swore and hopped back, twisting to the side; fast as his reflexes were, he still felt a biting pain in his left side a moment later, though it was by far preferable to having a giant hole through his chest. Before he could retaliate, a silver storm of arrows suddenly flew at Porphyrion, a few of them sinking deep into his flesh, though the wounds were nowhere near fatal. _

Artemis_, Percy realised in relief. _Time to finish this. _His resolve hardened, Percy danced back and drew deep within himself again, ignoring the pain in his gut that flared and started spreading across his entire chest. He had to-_

** Dream ends

Percy shot up gasping as if he had just been dunked into the Arctic Ocean. He winced as his aches and pains continued shooting through his body with a vengeance. Tilting his head to the side slightly, he examined his body clinically: torso and left arm wrapped completely in bandages, heavy bruising on his right arm. All in all, fairly standard given the wounds he normally had.

'Percy!' Apollo exclaimed. He flicked his hand and sent a warm pulse at his favourite cousin. 'How does it feel now?' he asked, concerned.

'A lot better, thanks 'Pollo' he said sleepily.

'Oh no, Jackson, you aren't going to sleep until we finish this examination' Apollo reprimanded. 'How is the pain? Throbbing, intermittent? Where is it located?'

As Apollo continued his examination, Percy took the chance to look at the man – well, god – _really_ look at the man. Rather than the eighteen year old form he had always seen Apollo adopt before, now he seemed a little older, like someone in their early twenties, and more…mature, he decided.

'Why-?' Percy started coughing halfway through his sentence. '-ater- please' he croaked out. After he had some water, he spoke again 'Not that I am ungrateful, but why are you being so…nice?'

Apollo laughed softly. 'Dude, leaving aside the fact that you saved Olympus once again, you also saved my sister' he said seriously. 'Taking into account the fact that you are my favourite cousin, I think me seeing to your healing personally is the least that I can do.'

'…I see,' Percy replied, genuinely moved by the normally playful god's sincerity. 'Thank you, my friend', he smiled.

'It was nothing' Apollo dismissed. He made to open his mouth, then hesitated and looked at Percy critically. 'Perce, do you…do you want to talk about – about, um, Chase?', he said tentatively.

As he asked this, Percy's face went darker than Tartarus and all signs of life seemed to recede from him. 'No,' he bit out. 'She betrayed us. End of story.'

_You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped_, Apollo thought to himself sadly. His heart went out to the young demigod in front of him – no one, least of all Percy, deserved the hand that fate had seen fit to give him. 'Alright,' he conceded. 'But if you need anything, I'll be there for you,' he vowed. Seeing the surprised, and somewhat doubtful look on the demigod's face, Apollo immediately moved to reassure him. 'Percy, I mean it – I consider you to be one of the best friends I've had in a long time, and I –'

'Thanks, Apollo' Percy smiled at him, moved by the god's vow. 'I'll keep that in mind. In the meantime, I want to hear about my friends – are they OK?' he asked, his worry for them as evident in his voice as a splash of paint on white canvas.

The god couldn't keep himself from inwardly shaking his head. _This man never fails to astound me with his loyalty and compassion – he's by far the greatest man I have ever known_, he thought to himself. _I wonder whether he'll accept our second offer of godhood?_

'They're fine Perce' the god told him. 'In the meantime, what you should do is _rest_' he stressed. 'I will clear you for visitors in the afternoon, but first you have an audience with the gods, so I must insist on you sleeping' Apollo ordered.

'I submit to the good doctor's judgement,' Percy rejoindered dryly, before rolling over to his side and sleeping.

-A little while later-

When he woke up, it was to a sight he never would have imagined in his wildest dreams; Artemis, the man-hating goddess was sleeping on the edge of his bed, auburn hair splayed out and framing her beautiful face in such a way that he shifted uncomfortably at the strange protectiveness she always seemed to be able to evoke in him. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he had harboured a certain soft spot for the auburn haired goddess from the day that they had first met, but had long since buried it. Since they had joined forces during the Giant War, the mutual respect between them had grown into a tentative friendship, a milestone considering the goddess involved. Seeing her so vulnerable and open now though, he couldn't help but wonder what might have been had he not started dating…_her_.

_I can't even think _her _name; how pathetic can I get?_, Percy mused wryly. He reached out and gently shook the sleeping goddess awake. 'Wake up, Artemis' he urged softly.

'Mmm, just a bit more 'Pollo' she mumbled out, pulling his blanket towards her. Percy flushed and tugged it back, acutely aware of his state of undress.

'Lady Artemis, please wake up, or I will have to use drastic measures' he informed the half-asleep goddess. When she simply turned over, Percy sighed and clicked his fingers, dousing her head in an icy water vapour.

Artemis started and shot upright, shrieking in surprise. 'Apollo!' she screamed, before turning aside and glowering at the male demigod beside her. Her scowl only lasted a few seconds before her face softened into concern. 'How are you feeling Perseus?' she asked him softly.

'Like I told Apollo, I'm fine' he grinned at her.

_That smile never reached his eyes though_, she realised, uncomfortably aware of the small voice in her head screaming at her to reach out and hold him close. 'We both know that that's not quite true' she told him. 'But it's your problem. I have no right to know. I don't have a method of directly stepping into the depths of your heart without losing your trust. So I'll wait. When you want to talk, when you think that you're ready to talk...talk to me. Until that time, I'll wait.'

By the end of this small speech, Artemis had tentatively reached out and covered his hand with both of her own smaller, more delicate ones; to a distant observer, they might have been mistaken for a pair of reserved lovers.

'…thanks' Percy muttered, flushing a little at the overt display of sentiment. 'How are the other demigods? Thalia, Reyna, Nico…?'

'They are fine. Good to see you up again Perce' Apollo announced as he strode in. 'Hello there Arty' he added. He tilted his head to the side and glanced at Percy's bandages critically. 'We'll need to change those' he commented idly as Artemis flushed as she realised the compromising (for her) position she was in and moved a little backward. Not entirely unjustified, as it turned out, as Apollo continued mischievously, 'Did the princess give the prince a kiss to wake him up?'

Artemis flushed slightly and glanced away, thankful that Percy's own embarrassment meant that he wasn't looking directly at her. 'I'm a _maiden_ goddess, Apollo, you should know better' she told him. Changing the subject abruptly, she stood up and prepared to leave. 'Is Perseus able to be moved to the throne room, or should we delay until tomorrow?' the goddess probed.

'After I get him a change of clothes, he should be ready' Apollo said calmly. 'You should probably go and gather the others Arty'.

'Very well; try not to injure yourself during the journey from here to the throne room Perseus' Artemis said dryly before flashing out to the throne room. Calling her bow to her hand, Artemis quickly fired off an arrow that exploded into a dazzling display of silver sparks, calling the other gods to her. Within minutes, the Olympians had fully assembled inside the throne room, eagerly looking towards the entrance to catch a glimpse of their (twice now) saviour.

'Greetings, everyone' Zeus called out. As her father droned on about the bravery of the gods, Artemis' thoughts drifted to back to her only male friend aside from Apollo (though since he was family he didn't really count). Like her brother, she knew that the Olympic council would most likely offer him godhood again, though unlike the last time, he didn't have anyone holding him back from accepting it this time. For some indiscernible reason, her heart clenched as she considered the thought of him remaining mortal and withering away with the passage of time.

'…and now, I believe that it is time to recognise our demigod children, without whom it would have been impossible to prevail' Zeus concluded, before briefly looking towards the demigods clustered in the hall.

'To each of the demigods that fought on Mt Olympus, on behalf of the Olympic council I offer each and every one of you a single wish, that we shall grant if it is within our power' he said proudly.

Even though he was expecting it, Percy was still floored by the generous offer, though his reaction was much better than that of his companions he noticed with amusement. Most of them looked like deers caught in the headlights – Frank, for example had his mouth hanging wide open in surprise.

-A few minutes later-

'Hail Jason, god of leadership and lightning, patron of New Rome!' Zeus bellowed.

Percy's lips twitched in a faint approximation of a smile as he gave a thumbs-up to the man he was proud to call his friend. Jason stepped towards the podium on which the other new gods were standing; Frank Zhang, minor god of archery and war; Hazel Levesque, minor goddess of riches and redemption; Leo Valdez, minor god of fire and the forge; Piper, minor goddess of love; Nico, immortal lieutenant of Hades; Reyna, immortal patron of New Rome; Thalia, immortal lieutenant of Artemis. The only person who had yet to be rewarded was himself, he realised.

'Perseus Jackson', the king of the gods spoke, much quieter than before, in what could have been described as an almost reverential tone. 'Step forward.'

The entire throne room quieted as the Son of Poseidon moved forward and knelt before the gods, as everyone focused on the last of the Heroes of Olympus. Some of them looked at him pityingly, some with sadness, some with pride, but swirling within everyone in the throne room at that moment was a deep gratitude for the man that had saved them all.

Though Zeus would never admit it, Perseus Jackson was one of his favourite demigods, and would always have himself an eternal supporter in his uncle. It broke his heart inside to see the pain his nephew was housing seething inside. 'Perseus' he repeated. 'No demigod has ever done so much, or lost so much as you have…we are now, and always will be, in your debt.'

Zeus suddenly surprised everyone by moving off his throne and shrinking to an ordinary mortal's size, before bowing his head to Percy. 'On behalf of the gods, I offer you our thanks once more' he said heart-feltedly, embracing his nephew quickly, before moving back to his throne.

'Taking your unparalleled services to the gods into account, I would like to extend you an offer which has not been made in millennia. I offer you status as a major Olympian god, and a seat as a council member' he concluded.

Percy blinked in surprise – while he had definitely been expecting another offer of godhood, he certainly hadn't been prepared for an offer to become a major Olympian. He blinked and bowed his head. 'My sincerest apologies, my Lords and Ladies, but at this point, I do not wish to become a god. I do have a request however, for which I require an oath on the Styx…'

Zeus shrugged and smiled resignedly as every member of the Olympian coucil swore the oath. 'Your wish, nephew?'

'I wish to be stripped of my dyslexia and be given the chance to live a life without godly interference' Percy said simply.

His wish was met with silence; absolute, stunned silence. Zeus wet his lips and asked the question burning on everyone's mind 'You…you wish to leave the world of the gods forever?'

'Not forever' Percy admitted. 'I just need to…clear my head for a while, and live the life I've always wanted. I also intend to stay at Camp for a while and put my affairs in order.'

'…very well' Zeus thundered before lifting his master bolt and blasting his nephew. When the lightning cleared, Percy was left standing completely unharmed in a circle of blackened stone.

'Could someone pass me a book please?' Percy requested.

'Here' someone behind him offered.

'Thanks,' Percy drawled, freezing in surprise and looking on blankly as he realised that the person offering him the book was Athena. He wasn't quite sure where he stood with her at the moment, and that was always a very dangerous thing when she was concerned.

_I do not blame you for her betrayal, Perseus_, her voice echoed in his mind. _I- I was wrong, it was she that was unworthy of you. I'm truly sorry for all the grief that I have caused you_, she whispered. _Please let me make it up to you later._

Percy was staggered by her proferred olive branch, especially given her previous distaste in regards to him in the past. _I'll meet with you after the ceremony_, he promised non-committedly, before flipping his book open. His eyes widened in surprise at the clarity with which he could read the words written within – they weren't merging together or falling off the page, the way that they always had before.

'Thank you very much, Uncle' he said softly. 'This gift really means a lot to me.'

'It's the least that I could do' Zeus waved off. 'However, I feel, and I think I speak on behalf of the council when I say this, that this is hardly an adequate reward for the one who saved us all. You've also made it quite clear that you don't wish to become a god, at least at this point in time. I suggest a compromise – that we grant you partial immortality, similar to that of Artemis' Hunters, and should you change your mind, we shall still grant you a seat at the Olympian council' he offered.

Percy blinked in surprise and backed away slightly. 'S-Sorry, t-this is j-just a little bit much to take in, Uncle' he stammered out. 'I would like time to consider this offer.'

'As you wish,' Zeus relented. 'Now that the ceremony is over, let us celebrate' the king of gods beamed.

As the Nine Muses began to crank up the music, Percy slipped out to an alcove and waited for Athena. It only took a few minutes of waiting until the blond-haired, grey-eyed goddess showed, but it seemed to take forever in his eyes – after being blasted with the master bolt by Zeus, he felt as if he was brimming in energy, despite having been critically injured just a few hours before.

_Uncle Zeus must have done something apart from removing my dyslexia_, Percy deduced, drumming his fingers against the pillar he was leaning on feverishly. _When IS she going to come?_, he grumbled inwardly.

'_She_ is here now' Athena announced coolly from behind him. Percy flushed in embarrassment as he turned around and looked at the goddess that so painfully reminded him of the woman that had betrayed him and ripped his heart out. The grey-eyed goddess smiled in amusement as she saw his abashment.

'Like I said earlier before Perseus-' she started.

'Percy. Call me Percy please, Perseus makes me feel old' the demigod interrupted her.

'As you wish. As I was saying, like I said earlier Percy, I want to make it up to you…for my prejudice against you because of your father' she ground out, embarrassed at being forced to admit her flaws. 'As you have said that you wish for a life without godly interference, I thought perhaps I could teach you to mask your divine aura, as well as to conceal your thoughts from gods' she offered tentatively. 'That way, no-one should be able to track you down once you decide to leave, using those means at least.'

Percy blinked and titled his head to the side. 'I accept your kind offer, Lady Athena.'

The goddess nodded and made to leave, before turning back. 'For what it's worth, I think you should take Zeus' offer' she told him before dissolving away.

Percy frowned to himself. If he accepted his uncle's offer, he would be staring at a lifetime of eternity. There were so many things he wanted to do, so many wonderful and beautiful things in the world left to see. And yet- and yet, eternity would be so empty without people to share it with. As he strode back into the mass of people to take his seat as the guest of honour, he made his decision.

**So how did I do for my first time? Constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated; thanks for reading everyone! **


	2. Holmes is born

Disclaimer: Same as Chapter 1

* * *

Chapter 2

Percy blinked as he heard a knock on his door and tore his eyes away from his copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ – ever since his dyslexia had been removed and he had returned to camp, he had spent nearly every waking moment devouring every book he could get his hands on. Inevitably though, this led to his withdrawal from day to day life in the camp, so someone going out of their way to visit him was rather unexpected.

'Coming, just let me put my shirt on!' he called out. Even as he shrugged his shirt on, he frowned at the door; judging from the footsteps he had heard preceding the knock, he'd be willing to say that the person there was either a Hunter of Artemis or a very skilled hunter – their footsteps were so quiet that they were at the very edge of his hearing range! Must be Thalia then, he decided; whilst he had a tentative relationship with Artemis, he highly doubted that she would go out of her way to visit him, and the only other Hunter he knew was Thalia. He frowned to himself; recently his thoughts had become much clearer, more organised, more fluid in flow. _I'll need to ask Lady Athena that the next time we have our lessons_, he decided. He strode over to the door.

'Thalia, I presume?' he called out before opening the door.

'Yes, it's me,' Thalia replied. 'How did you…'

Percy ignored the question for a moment and took the time to study his friend; since becoming an immortal lieutenant of Artemis, her presence had become much stronger; the silvery glow that faintly surrounded all the Hunters seemed more vibrant, though not quite as strong as the one that always surrounded the moon goddess. Rather than the silvery parka and pants that was standard uniform for the Hunters, she was wearing a set of plain black pants and shirt.

'Your footsteps' he said simply. When Thalia frowned at him and static started dancing around her he quickly took a step back and held his hands out. 'Your footsteps – they're too quiet, therefore Hunter of Artemis or Artemis herself; last I checked in the camp, there weren't very many stealthy people – certainly not ones that could move that quietly. Therefore, Hunter of Artemis or Artemis – you are the only Hunter I know, and while Artemis…tolerates me, I rather doubt that she would approach me, ergo you' he elaborated, rattling off like a gatling gun. 'Hardly a genius deduction.'

'OK…' Thalia blinked and bit her lip. 'Percy, people are worried about you.'

'I'm sure they are' Percy deadpanned. 'Which is why you're the first person who's approached me, since I came back to camp, so, in, ah, about a week.'

'Percy, this isn't healthy' Thalia pleaded. 'You need to get out and breathe some fresh air,' she scowled at him, in an attempt to intimidate him. 'I've gotten us two movie tickets, and you _are_ coming; don't make me drag you to the cinemas' she smiled pleasantly.

'Very well' Percy growled out. 'But you're paying for food and drinks.'

'How chivalrous of you, Seawe- Percy' she corrected herself. Unfortunately, Percy caught the slip and retreated into himself even more.

'I'll meet you at Half-Blood Hill' he said curtly, before unceremoniously closing the door in her face.

Thalia snarled to herself and punched the door frame. _Why do I always put my foot in my mouth?_

* * *

-After the film-

'What did you think?' Thalia asked Percy after she flashed them both back to Camp Half-Blood.

'…surprisingly OK' Percy admitted. In truth, he had quite enjoyed the film, though as a matter of pride, he wouldn't admit it to her face. 'Oh, alright, I enjoyed it, OK' he growled out in mock irritation at Thalia's knowing look.

'Let's do this again next weekend?' she offered. 'You'll be paying, though' she added hastily.

'_Fine_' he said tersely. 'Now if you'll excuse me…'

'Oh, no you don't Jackson' Thalia barked out. 'You are going to eat at the pavilion with me, _not_ go back to burying yourself in books.' From the static that was starting to fly around, Percy could tell that she was serious, so he relented and started walking to the pavilion. Percy heaped his plate high with food, before turning to Thalia and raising an eyebrow in a taunting fashion. _Happy_? After a sharp nod, he strolled over to the brazier and dumped the contents of his entire plate inside.

_To Ladies Artemis, Athena and Hestia, and my father Poseidon_, he thought. He turned to see Thalia scowling at him.

'_What_ was that?' Thalia said dangerously, electric blue eyes narrowing in displeasure, her black hair rising into spikes as sparks began flying from her body. 'For gods' sake, you need to eat!' she yelled at him.

'No, _you_ need to eat' Percy corrected. 'I'm not hungry.'

She scowled at him and let out a deep breath, letting the tension flow out of her body. 'Percy, please…,' she pleaded. 'You need to eat, you know this!'

'Fine' he ground out. 'For you.'

Thalia smiled at him tentatively. 'Thank you.'

Her smile was promptly wiped off her face when she saw him reach into his pocket and break off a square of ambrosia, which he promptly swallowed.

'There, I had dinner' Percy snarked.

'…you're staying here until I finish my meal' Thalia commanded.

'Very well.'

As Thalia dug into her meal, she studied her friend; over the last week, his features, which, privately, she thought were on par with that of any god, whilst still exceptional, seemed to have lost something vital that had pervaded him before, though she couldn't quite put what it was into words. His face seemed a little gaunter, his cheeks sunken; clearly he'd been neglecting his health for quite a while now. He looks…_beaten_, Thalia realised, completely bewildered and lost as to how to help him.

'Percy, listen, I know that we don't always get along that well…' Thalia trailed off as she realised he was reading a book, completely ignoring her. 'PERCY!'

'Yes, what is it? No need to shout' the demigod said tetchily.

'I'm worried about you' she said softly. 'You're so introverted now, y-you're not yourself and you...I can't make you talk to me, but I wish that you would' she continued, a little embarrassed at her lapse in emotion. 'Just, if you need to talk, I'm only an Iris-message away' she smiled at him and clasped his hand briefly.

'I know' he whispered softly, and Thalia couldn't help but reach out and clasp his hand supportively as she saw the lines that suddenly appeared on his forehead, aging him far beyond his years. 'Believe me, I know. I-I've been thinking about asking Apollo for therapy…' he trailed off.

'And you should' she approved, gripping his hand a little tighter in sympathy. 'I-I know that talking with someone definitely helps with things like this' Thalia elaborated. 'R-remember when I thought that I killed Luke? Talking to Lady Artemis definitely helped me deal with that.'

'As did finding out that he wasn't dead' Percy deadpanned. 'But I take your point.'

* * *

-Mt Olympus-

Percy took in a moment to breathe in the architecture; whilst it painfully reminded him of _her_, he could still appreciate the beauty of the buildings she had designed. He snarled and rubbed his head; he could feel a migraine building. He reached out and knocked on the door to the temple, before settling on a nearby marble bench. He was a little nervous, especially given who he was meeting, but he knew that she was perhaps the only person that could help him.

'Perseus?' a certain grey-eyed goddess said in surprise as she stepped out from the temple. 'I didn't expect you to contact me so soon…please, come in' she invited. 'Would you like some refreshments?'

Percy ignored her question in favour of gazing around the interior of the temple; he could see the strong classical influence of Greece in the ubiquitous supporting pillars, but the décor reminded him greatly of his mother's house. With a pang, he realised that he had barely talked to his mother and Paul since he had arrived home from Greece. I'm going to have to fix that after this, he resolved to himself. Even as he was thinking this his eyes were flying over the place – there were too many stimuli, he couldn't stop himself from noticing all the details -

'Perseus?' the goddess asked him in concern as she noticed his vacant eyes. 'Is something wrong?'

Percy closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. 'I-I need to sit down,' he muttered lowly.

'S-should I call Apollo?' Athena inquired, touching his arm tentatively.

'N-no, this is a problem only you can help me with' Percy gasped out. 'I- ever since Zeus removed my dyslexia my thoughts also seemed to have cleared' he finally choked out, finally calming down from his panic attack. 'B-but now it's getting to the point where I can't seem to stop noticing every tiny detail- I can't even sleep at night now. I know that this wasn't exactly what you had in mind when you made that offer, but could you please help me?'

'Of course' Athena replied. 'But first, we need to get you calmed down; j-just relax and focus on the sound of my voice' she said soothingly, slowly stroking the demigod's back. As the shaking demigod slowly calmed, she started speaking again. 'Perseus, I'm going to need to call Apollo – both to check on your physical health, and also because he can also help you with your problem. OK?'

'J-just make it stop' he pleaded.

'Apollo!' she called lowly. 'Perseus needs your help, get here NOW!'

_Coming_, Apollo sent to her. _Let me just put the sun chariot on autopilot…will be there in a minute._

Athena continued rubbing Percy's back soothingly. She was alarmed by just how much he had deteriorated since the award ceremony a month ago- then, whilst not in the peak of health, he had looked much more hale and hearty compared to his current state: dark bags were under his eyes, his cheeks were drawn and pinched, shoulders slumped and his entire bearing screamed out that he was utterly, both mentally and physically drained. Athena frowned at the strange sense of protectiveness that seemed to well up inside of her as she stared at the demigod – right now, he wasn't the son of her rival, he was just another person torn apart by the burdens life had given him.

It was to this strange sight that Apollo flashed into.

_Tell anyone and you're dead_, Athena sent over to him before he opened his mouth.

_Understood_, the sun god replied, perfectly serious.

'Perce, I'm here now' Apollo spoke gently. 'I'm going to check your vitals, but with your permission I would like to send you to sleep. Would you like that Perce?'

'D-do it' Percy whispered through trembling lips. Apollo nodded and sent a gentle wave of golden light at his favourite cousin that coaxed him to sleep within seconds. His face softened imperceptibly as he watched his cousin's face settle into something resembling peace. The sun god flicked his hand again and started examining the sleeping demigod. For the next few minutes, he worked in a comfortable silence before turning to Athena.

'He's malnourished and has eaten too much ambrosia which explains his fever…What happened?' he said brusquely.

'He told me that ever since his dyslexia was removed by our father that his thoughts seemed to have cleared' Athena began.

'Well, that was to be expected wasn't it?' Apollo pointed out. 'Removing a demigod's built-in capacity for Ancient Greek or Latin frees up brain capacity'

'Yes, of course, but he told me that he can't seem to stop noticing details about anything he looks it…apparently it's so bad that he can't sleep very well, if at all' the wisdom goddess continued.

'Ah, sensory overload' Apollo frowned and fell silent. 'I would suggest teaching him the method of loci' he decided eventually. 'The discipline required would help him tremendously in controlling his thoughts…you would know best about this though.'

'I agree with you' Athena confessed. 'I think I will have to teach him my own methods in dealing with this personally…I suppose you'll need to take him to your temple?'

'Indeed' Apollo agreed amiably. 'We need to get him linked up to some IV, his body desperately needs nutrients.'

'A-Annabeth…why' the demigod muttered as he turned around in his sleep.

'And I'm going to have to impress upon him the importance of therapy' Apollo scowled.

* * *

-Apollo's temple-

The twin archer gods were gazing at Percy as he tossed and turned intermittently, occasionally mumbling in his sleep. 'A-Annabeth…traitor…why' he repeated.

'You see sis, he needs you' Apollo entreated.

'I'm going to ask you this again – are you joking?' Artemis demanded. 'I-'

'Sis, he trusts you' Apollo pointed out. 'I saw the way the two of you worked together when you were hunting down the giants – you like and trust him too; more than that, you _owe_ him for lifting the sky from your shoulders! He might like me, and trust me, but not as much as he does you, which is critical in therapy!'

'Fine' Artemis scowled before noticing Percy's hands twitching slightly. 'You should see to your, I mean, _our_ patient' she pointed.

'W-what's going on?' Percy muttered sleepily. As he sat up and looked around the events of the past few days hit him. 'Oh' he said in realisation, before blinking in confusion. 'Hey there Apollo, Lady Artemis' he greeted. 'Apollo, why is it that my thoughts seem much…slower?' the demigod inquired.

'I gave you some meds' Apollo admitted.

'…so I'm high?' he said sleepily.

'I suppose so, yes' the sun god conceded. 'Understand that this is a one-time thing – I won't do it again and after you go through your training with Athena you won't need it again.'

'Good' Percy sighed in relief. He frowned as he saw Artemis awkwardly standing behind Apollo. 'You came to visit me Lady Artemis?'

Percy was genuinely surprised that she was there at all; while they had established a mutual respect, and even he even thought of her as a tentative friend, he had always felt that she had merely tolerated him at most. Seeing her at his bedside, not once, but twice, therefore, seemed like something out of a fairy tale.

'Yes, well, you _are _my friend' Artemis shrugged, eying him in concern. She frowned inwardly at the admission – while it _was_ true that she considered him a friend, she hadn't meant to say it to him so brazenly. But since she had already admitted it…

'How do you feel now?' the goddess asked, summoning a seat next to his bed. 'Apollo said, and I agree with him, that if you are feeling up to it that we should be starting your recovery regime immediately if you are up to it.'

'I'm fine' Percy waved off. 'I…assume my therapy sessions are to be with you then?' he asked tentatively.

'That's right' Artemis smiled at him fondly. 'Though…if you'd prefer Apollo I underst-'

'No- no, I- I'd prefer to have you, if you're willing' he stammered out. 'I- no offence to you Apollo, b- but I would just feel more comfortable discussing this stuff with Lady Artemis.'

'I understand completely' the sun god smirked at Artemis in an annoyingly superior way. 'I'll be leaving you two to your discussion; see you in an hour, I'll be taking you to Athena then.'

'OK' Percy called out as the god flashed away. He turned to the moon goddess who was awkwardly looking away from him.

_How does this therapy even work? _Artemis demanded of her brother.

_Just let him be comfortable and open up naturally, try and coax him to talk about Annabeth and any other issues_, the sun god shrugged mentally. _It's a process._

Percy flushed as he saw the goddess' silver eyes fixed upon him. Being with her in the same room as when he had first acknowledged his just-a-tad-bit-less-than-platonic feelings toward her made him feel a more than little awkward.

_She agreed to help you…recover_, he told himself reluctantly. _You might as well make the most of it._

'Perseus, do you feel…comfortable talking about…well, _her_' Artemis asked him softly. 'If you don't I under-'

'I…just let me get a moment to think' he said softly. He closed his eyes and took several moments to muster his thoughts – pleased at the slower pace they were flowing at – before finally opening his eyes. He opened his mouth and began to speak.

* * *

-Manhattan, six months later-

Over the past six months, Percy had gradually pieced his life back together; his thrice-weekly therapy sessions with Artemis, combined with the mind-palace he had painstakingly constructed with Apollo and Athena's advice had allowed him to relinquish his feelings for Annabeth and move on – though he had made his peace with the past, he also compartmentalised the painful memories. He was by no means whole, but he was healing, more complete every day. The training he received from Athena, whilst demanding, had definitely helped - whilst he still noticed the tiny details about practically everything he looked at he no longer felt the nagging compulsion to chain together those details into a concrete deduction. He had easily mastered Athena's lessons on how to mask his aura and guard his mind from attack as well; as a reward, she had taught him how to enter the minds of others, though she made him promise on the Styx not to abuse it.

Since the majority of his issues had been fixed, he had started throwing himself into further learning with a vengeance – whilst he had managed to calm his mind down a bit, occupying it was the best way to make sure that he didn't die from mind-numbing boredom. He had even turned around his grades in mortal school, getting straight A's, much to everyone else's surprise. After his taste of AP chemistry, Percy had decided that he would definitely pursue it at a tertiary level – he loved the practical side of the field, and its sheer expanse was enough to satisfy even his new-found desire for knowledge. As a side hobby, he even learned from Apollo how to play the violin. Whilst he was still a novice, he was picking it up quickly, prompting his teacher to jokingly proclaim that he would soon be serenading the ladies.

Apollo had declared him fit for quests a month ago, so long as he agreed to attending weekly meetings with Artemis – as if he would compromise his own recovery, he scoffed inwardly. Almost immediately after that declaration, he had thrown himself into doing odd tasks for the gods – for example, helping Hecate recover her torches (her symbol of power) from her renegade demigod son Alabaster Torrington. Hecate had thanked him profusely, and even blessed him with the ability to use magic. Since then he had thrown himself into learning how to use his new abilities eagerly, pleased at the refreshing new challenge. Magic truly was limited only by his imagination – so far he had learned how to make rudimentary wards and seals, as well as to heal people, but from the demonstrations Hecate had given him, he knew that it was capable of so much more.

Perhaps the best thing though, was his growing friendship with Artemis. He had known from the onset of their therapy sessions that she had done so only because Apollo had convinced her to do so – but he was so glad that she had agreed. Since he had started opening up to her, the tentative understanding between them had deepened greatly - he could now say with certainty that she viewed him as a friend, which was quite the achievement for a male. For his part, he could safely say that she was fast growing to be one of his closest friends.

Percy blinked as he realised that his wandering feet had taken him to his mother's apartment. That was it was to him now, he realised – while he knew that he would cherish the memories that had been made here, it just wasn't his home anymore. He stepped up and rapped the door gently with his knuckles.

'Coming!' Sally Jackson called out. 'Oh, Percy!' she cried out, reaching out and enveloping him in a hug. The male demigod flushed and gingerly hugged his mother back.

'I missed you' he whispered.

'Come in' his mother smiled. 'Can I get you anything?'

'N-no' Percy faltered. 'M-mum this isn't a social call.'

'I expected as much,' Sally sighed. 'What's the matter?'

'As you know, I'm nearly finished with high school' Percy began. 'And because of my grades I was offered a lot of scholarships from here in the States, and even some from England…I-I was thinking – thinking of moving to London to study chemistry at Oxford.'

'W-what?' Sally sputtered. 'B-but there are so many good colleges to study here!'

'I know Mum, I know' Percy reassured. 'Believe me, I didn't just decide this on a whim.'

'Explain' she commanded.

He clenched his hands and gathered his thoughts.

'Moving to England would be highly beneficial for me in several ways' he expounded. 'For one thing, there are practically no monsters there at all, since most of them have migrated over here, to the States. Two, while I love you Mum, I-I need to move out' Percy said gently. 'I need to move out, become more independent.'

'But you're going to be so far' she whispered, a few tears escaping her eyes and rolling down her face. 'We won't be able to see each other as often-'

'Oh, Mum' Percy laughed before hugging her reassuringly, breathing her scent in deeply. 'I've been working on that problem with Lady Hecate. Remember those 'Portkeys' in Harry Potter? I managed to create something functionally identical to it. And we both have laptops now- we can Skype each other and-'

Percy stopped as he realised he was babbling and crying too. 'I-I want to cross this bridge Mum' he said after he had recomposed himself. 'I-if I don't even try, I won't know for sure that I can be independent and I'll stay a kid forever. So, please don't do anything to remove that bridge' he pleaded.

Sally stared at her son, still wiping his tears in front of her. 'You're set on doing this no matter what I say or do, no?' she laughed sadly. 'You get that from your father. I-I don't want you to leave but I understand why you want to do it. Yes, of course I give you my blessing' Sally whispered and drew him into a heartfelt hug. 'You're my only son.'

'Thank you' Percy replied, face slightly muffled as he buried his face in his mother's shoulder. 'Thank you!'

Eventually, Percy reluctantly pulled himself away. 'Mum, you said once that we had family in the UK – that they were your cousins? I-I want to get into contact with them if possible' he said softly.

'I will get into contact with them' Sally promised. 'But first, I think I need to confess something to you.'

'Are you pregnant?' Percy blurted out in surprise.

'W-what?' Sally shrieked out. 'N-no, I-I'm not pregnant' she continued in a more modulated tone. 'I-I'm a legacy of Athena' she said quietly.

Percy blinked- of all the things that she could have said, that was something he wasn't expecting. 'I see. Go on Mum' he encouraged.

Sally took in a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair before launching back into her explanation. 'My grandmother, Violet Holmes, was an immigrant from England in the early 1900s' she started. 'As I told you once before when you were young, she met and fell in love with a man named Kevin Jackson. What I didn't tell you at the time was that in the late 1700s, Athena fell in love with a mortal man, named Andrew Holmes, who was a little-known pioneer of chemistry, and a rival of Luigi Galvani and Humphrey Davy. Their offspring, John Holmes, displayed the intelligence that most children of Athena did, but his intellect was by far superior to that of his siblings; I believe he was even nicknamed the second coming of Daedalus.'

'Mum, please, get to the point' Percy pleaded.

'It seems your training with Athena hasn't improved your patience any' Sally commented. 'The point is that our ancestor, John Holmes, was a genius above all others. His descendants inherited his intellect. I-I think that this inherited intelligence was brought out to the fore once your dyslexia was removed, and combined with your ADHD, I think that's why….everything got too much for you. I-I'm sorry,' she whispered.

'Oh, Mum' Percy sighed, leaning over and embracing her again firmly. 'I could never, _never_, blame you' he breathed in her ear. 'I love you too much for that. And…to be honest, I wouldn't have changed a thing. I-I got friends out of it, and…,' his voice broke. 'Well, a lot of good has come out of it.'

After a few more moments of holding her, Percy let go and got up regretfully. 'I-I need to get my things' he said lowly. 'If I'm going to be moving out I need to start packing now.'

'Of course' Sally said tearfully. 'I-I'll contact them right away. I'll ask them to arrange a place for you to stay. I have almost never contacted them before, but they would do it for me.'

The male demigod nodded and slipped off to his bedroom. The room was quite bare, with only a bed, table and dresser. Percy immediately went to the dresser and opened the top drawer. He gazed down wistfully at its contents- a small red box, that, at one point, had held his entire being, his hopes, his dreams…and his heart. He had suffered through quite a lot to get Hephaestus to forge that wedding ring for him, he remembered with a twinge of pain. He reached out and put the box into his pocket.

* * *

-Heathrow, one month later-

Percy blinked as he saw a tall, slightly rotund young (perhaps twenty four or so) man holding a placard with his name splashed across it in large block letters, absent-mindedly twirling a long black umbrella.

'You must be Mr. Holmes' he said affably, and offered the man his hand. 'I'm very pleased to meet you.'

'Please, call me Mycroft, Mr Jackson' his distant relative offered, giving him a ghastly grimace that he supposed was meant to be a smile. 'Or would you prefer to be called Perseus?'

'Percy, actually' the demigod replied. 'Shall we?'

'Yes, of course' Mycroft agreed, leading him toward the exit. Percy barely batted an eyelid as he noticed that Mycroft had his own personal driver. Was he trying to intimidate him with a show of wealth?, the demigod wondered. As he glanced at the driver he noticed the eyes – dancing around rapidly in their sockets, in constant motion, ever wary. Next was the man's bearing – loose and fluid, ready to react to the slightest provocation.

_Bodyguard_, Percy surmised. _Now why would a bodyguard be needed for a supposedly minor official in the British government? _

He quickly pulled out his phone – constructed purely out of celestial bronze by Hephaestus personally, it doubled both as a phone and as a secondary sword for him, and was enchanted to return to his pocket just like Riptide. Fingers flying across the screen with the ease of a practiced musician, he Googled _Mycroft Holmes_.

_On public record_, _he is indeed a minor public servant, but if he was, that wouldn't justify the bodyguard's presence,_ he noticed. _Probably involved with the intelligence service…if what my mother managed to glean was true, then the blood of John Holmes runs true in him…I can see how that might have helped him move up the ranks. _

Percy relished the silence that fell between them as the car slowly wound its way to the Holmes family manor out in the countryside, instead marvelling at the view of the world outside – urban London traffic that gradually gave way to lush green countryside. Mycroft had long since pulled out a laptop and started typing on it, body tilted at a slight angle towards him – just enough so that he couldn't see the screen, Percy noticed critically.

_Definitely has something to hide, intelligence service seems more and more likely…_

The car slowed and pulled up to a stop – outside a large red house – the Holmes family home that his mother had shown him in some old, grayscale photographs, passed down from Violet Holmes. An elderly man and woman were standing at the doorway, beaming and waving at the car; from the strong physical resemblance, Mycroft's parents.

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Holmes' Percy smiled thinly as he leaned over and kissed the elderly woman, repeating the process with her husband, before pressing a small box into her hand. 'A token of my family's appreciation for your aid' he explained.

'Thank you Perseus' she chimed out. Unwrapping the gift, she blinked as she found a pair of rings.

'Mr and Mrs Holmes, please, call me Percy. I enchanted them myself to bring you good health; many happy returns' Percy congratulated. He delicately scented the air – _roast beef and chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes _\- before tilting his head to the side. 'You shouldn't have waited for us on your wedding anniversary of all days – though I must admit that I am glad you did.'

'The Holmes blood indeed runs true in you, as Sally said' Mrs Holmes commented in slight surprise, looking at him consideringly. 'Do come in dearie.'

As they entered the house, Percy's eyes eagerly drank in the interior of the building, hungry to learn a little more about his British cousins. He looked around breathlessly; to his left was a rather large cabinet, upon which were mounted scores of trophies, medals and miscellaneous other awards. He thought that he could see a few Fields medals, honorary diplomas from Cambridge, Oxford and several other renowned institutions. To his right was a large dining room, with a table groaning under the weight of the food laden upon it. What truly captivated him though was the beautifully crafted violin set in a glass case nearby the grand, sweeping staircase – a Stradivarius, Percy realised. Unconsciously, he walked forward, gazing at the exquisite instrument that seemed to twinkle at him.

'A fan of the violin I take it?' Mycroft inquired, casually leaning over the polished oaken bannister. 'Any good?'

'_Very_ good' Percy asserted after a moment's hesitation. 'Apollo approves of me, so I suppose that's something' he added nonchalantly, his fingers aching with the need to caress and strum the wooden gem in front of him. 'But, anyway, let's have dinner, shall we? I think I've kept you and your parents waiting long enough.'

* * *

As Mr and Mrs Holmes stood and started clearing away the plates, motioning to Percy to remain sitting, he glanced at Mycroft, who was reaching out to his laptop.

_Now's as good a time as any to ask_, the demigod decided.

'MI-5 or MI-6?' he shot out.

'MI-6' Mycroft replied affably before spinning his laptop around. 'As your mother requested, I have created a new identity for your protection here, now all we need is a first name, my new little brother.'

'Sherlock' Percy said tersely before grinning. 'This is going to be interesting, Mycroft Holmes.'

'I agree with you, Sherlock Holmes. Tell me, what are the core principles, as you understand them, of the science of deduction?'

* * *

-Mt Olympus-

Artemis hummed cheerfully as she strode towards Apollo's temple, keen to see her new friend Perseus. Over the past several months of therapy, despite her initial reluctance, she had grown to appreciate the man more – his loyalty, his charisma, his unending determination and even to an extent his sharp sarcastic humour. The goddess was a little scared at the pull the young demigod had on her – never before had she felt such an attachment in her life, not even Orion had managed to make her heart flutter in both joy and fear the way that Percy did, and she was unsure how to deal with her growing closeness to the man. She smiled slightly as she remembered his soulful sea green eyes, brimming with fire as he talked to her about his passion for chemistry.

_If only he looked at _me_ like that_, she thought longingly, before blinking and coming to a complete stop. _You're a _maiden_ goddess, _Artemis reminded herself. _And in any case, he only views you as a friend – do you really want to risk jeopardizing that friendship? _The goddess nodded to herself sharply. She wouldn't dare do anything to risk losing that friendship, she promised herself. Artemis pushed the door to their therapy room open, and stopped abruptly when she realised he wasn't already inside, smiling at her goofily as he always had before. Never, in all their sessions had Percy turned up late, nor had he ever missed one.

_Something must have happened to him_, she panicked, preparing to mentally seek out Apollo before she noticed a folded piece of paper lying on top on the chair she normally sat on as they talked to each other. The beautiful goddess frowned; from where she was, she could see writing. A letter? She felt a chill run through her body, a sense that she had just lost something crucial. Artemis reached out, unfolded the paper, and began to read:

_Dear Artemis,_

_My guess is that you're sitting in our room right now, and you're wondering why I'm not there. Well, the main reason is because I don't want to mess this up. I'm afraid that if we talk, I'll miss something and beat myself up afterwards for forgetting. _

_No, that's not quite true. I'm not there right now, because I'm going to be leaving the world of the gods, for the time being at least. Please don't try to find me; I have taken measures to hide myself. _

_The reason that I'm writing this letter is because I just wanted to thank you for all the things that you've done for me – in particular, our therapy sessions together. I know that you viewed it only a chore at first and wanted nothing to do with the entire thing, but I'm glad that you did it anyway. Even though we only started becoming closer during the Giant War, somehow I feel as if we've been friends all my life. _

_I hope that you don't hold this against me, though I understand if you do; I just need to get away from all this for a while. It's been a pleasure Artemis, but this is something I have to do. I have a feeling that we'll meet again – it might not be soon, it may be an eternity, but I am sure we will see each other again._

_Ever yours,_

_Your friend, Percy Jackson _

A wave of conflicting emotions swept Artemis, staggering her; she reached out and grasped the back of her chair for support. Anger, pain, fear, worry – all of them started welling up from the depths of her heart, suffocating her. Had someone walked in on her then, they would have seen a silver tear slowly rolling down the goddess' face.

-Oxford University-

Molly Hooper looked around her curiously as she strolled through the luxuriant, meticulously kept lawns of Oxford. Young men and women were around her everywhere, buzzing and swarming as they rushed to their lectures. She hoisted her satchel up a little higher on her shoulder as it began to slip and took out the map of the grounds from her pocket again, lost both in the sheer size of the campus and by the sea of people seething around her. She winced slightly as she remembered how, lost in trying to explore campus, she had completely forgotten to unpack her things – even now, there were several boxes in her room – that would take a while to get rid of, she grimaced to herself.

Still, she was cheerful – she was finally on her way to becoming a doctor! She was making herself and her family quite proud. After all, she had managed to become one of the very few successful international applicants to study medicine at Oxford. That'd show everyone who had sneered at her! And what a beautiful place to prove them all wrong as well, she thought, casting another admiring glance at the immaculately manicured lawn. She gasped as she checked her watch. She was almost late to her biology lecture! She slipped through the sea of people in front of her, desperate to get to there in time.

As it turned out, she ended up arriving at the lecture hall just as everyone else started filing inside. Carried by her forward momentum though, she ended up nearly crashing into a tall young man in a dark coat.

'Woah! Easy there!' he said in amusement. 'Are you alright?' he added as he noticed her rubbing her head gingerly.

'Yes, I-I'm fine' Molly stammered out, blushing slightly as he levelled her with mysterious sea green eyes. She could lose herself in those depths forever, she thought as she stared back into those eyes dreamily. She wrenched herself away from the irresistible pull of those eyes with an effort and motioned towards the door. 'W-we should be going in, no?' she joked, acutely aware of the loaded looks the other young women were sending her.

'Yes, I believe we should' the man replied in amusement. 'How are you finding Great Britain compared to America?'

'S-sorry?' Molly squeaked out – those eyes were so deep and mysterious, she could barely resist the urge to gaze back into them again.

'Your accent – it's American' he pointed out, before frowning. 'Hey, are you sick? You look a bit feverish…'

'N-no, I-I-I just ran h-halfway across campus' she forced out. 'I- we should get in' she changed the subject, desperate to get away from those deep emerald pits that threatened to subsume her entire being. 'My name is Molly Hooper, might I know yours?'

'Holmes. Sherlock Holmes' he responded.

**As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated! **

**Edit: I'd just like to ask, what stories from the canonical Holmes tales by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would you readers like to have incorporated into the story? I'm planning on following vaguely the same storyline as the TV series for the first two seasons, but I also want to pay my own tribute to Sir Doyle; so what do you think? I'm probably only going to fit in two or three cases, so pick wisely! :)**


	3. A Study in Companionship

Disclaimer: Same as chapter 1.

* * *

Chapter 3: A Study In Companionship

-In London, ten years later-

Sherlock threw an orange across the room as he looked around his flat – tiny and cramped, it was all he could afford at the moment with Mycroft capping his withdrawals from his trust fund. Well, between his consultancy work at Scotland Yard and the occasional extra interesting case, he should have enough to live comfortably, but experimenting was a vice that he didn't plan on giving up.

**Mycroft, I need a flat, get me one. - SH**

**Get a flatmate. Your trust fund only goes so far. - MH**

Sherlock scowled as he read Mycroft's text. Mycroft knew perfectly well that he didn't mix well with ordinary people – what was the point in forcing him to get a flatmate? After all he had been through – the Second Titan and Giant Wars came to mind – the banality of humdrum, _normal_ life, _especially_ the asinine, _boring_ people seemed to have lost its appeal to him. He chuckled quietly – years ago, all he had wanted was to be an ordinary boy – now, he couldn't ever imagine himself being one.

**Have you found a flatmate?- MH**

Sherlock groaned. He hated interacting with people if he could avoid it, they were so dull and boring and petty. So normal. He suspected that one of the primary reasons Mycroft wanted him to find a flatmate was for his own amusement.

**Alright, I'll look for a flatmate. Now shut up. – SH**

_A trip to St Bart's might be in order_, he decided, absent-mindedly pulling out his riding crop lying on the table. _I can get more body parts from Molly._

* * *

-St Bart's Morgue-

Sherlock stood back, having finished whipping the cadaver. Molly raised an eyebrow at him. 'Bad day?' she called out to him congenially.

'Boring' he shot back in reply, before tilting his head and adding apologetically, 'It was just the usual, Molly'. Ever since they had first met in university the two of them had become rivals, always competing with each other playfully for the best grades. Although Molly's initial crush on him had been rather…off-putting, she had quickly gotten over it after he'd made it clear that he just wasn't interested in her. That hadn't gotten in the way of their blossoming friendship though – if anything, he had appreciated her honesty, and at least things hadn't been awkward between them afterwards. But he had only truly realised what a good friend she was after Redbeard had died; spiralling into depression at losing one of the dearest companions he had ever had, he had disappeared into a syringe. She had talked him through it, and forced him to get clean, something that he would be eternally grateful for. He had even shared the fact that he was a demigod with her. It felt…good being able to talk to someone about that part of his life, especially since he had cut off all contact with the US apart from his mother.

'I need to know the pattern of the bruises that form in the next twenty minutes, a man's alibi depends on it – text me' he fired off.

'Do you need a coffee?' she asked him seriously. 'You look…stressed' she added tentatively.

'Black, two sugars please, you know where to find me, and thank you' he nodded at her in gratitude.

-St Bart's Hospital Laboratory-

Sherlock squeezed some acid onto the Petri dish. He was testing to see whether magically grown bacterial cultures were any different from ordinary cell cultures. So far, they seemed to be identical in every way, which stymied him – surely they must differ in some way? The door opened and Sherlock glanced up even as he continued writing down his observations into a little notebook. Stamford and a man with a metal, heavy duty walking stick walked in. He frowned imperceptibly – something about that man was oddly familiar, like a long-lost friend.

_Height approximately 1.7 metres, military haircut and bearing- _

'Bit different from my day,' the man with the walking stick commented as he glanced around.

\- _army doctor then, trained at Bart's, tanned skin –_

Sherlock shook himself out of his deductive reverie and focused on Stamford. 'Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.'

'And what's wrong with the landline?' Stamford asked with a raised eyebrow.

'I prefer to text' Sherlock shrugged.

'…sorry, it's in my coat upstairs' Stamford replied after patting down his pockets.

'Er, here, use mine' the army doctor offered, fishing in his back pocket.

'Oh. Thank you, um…'

'This is an old friend of mine, John Watson' Stamford interjected.

'Thank you, John' Sherlock offered, and accepted the phone.

_Limp is really bad from what I can see, but he doesn't seem to want a chair, limp must be partly psychosomatic then – origin of the injury must have been traumatic – trauma plus army doctor –_

'Afghanistan or Iraq?' Sherlock vocalised.

'Sorry?' John asked, features flash-frozen in surprise.

'Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?' Sherlock elaborated.

'Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you…'

John was interrupted as Molly walked in with a mug of coffee and passed it to Sherlock before dashing out.

'How do you feel about the violin John?' Sherlock suddenly asked.

'I'm sorry, what?' the doctor responded, flabbergasted at the _non sequitur_.

'I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other, no?' Sherlock answered as he turned back to the doctor.

John stood and blinked for several seconds before turning to Stamford. 'When…when did you tell him about me?'

'I didn't,' Stamford said smugly. 'Not a word.'

'Then who said anything about being flatmates?' the doctor challenged.

'_I _did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap,' Sherlock shrugged.

'How _did_ you know about Afghanistan?'

Sherlock shrugged and ignored the question, opting instead to don his coat and scarf. 'I've got my eye on a nice little place in central London; together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the morgue.'

As Sherlock moved toward the door, John called out to him, 'Is that it? We've only just met and now we're going to go and look at a flat together?'

'Problem?'

'We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name' the doctor pointed out.

Sherlock paused and tilted his head to the side, peering at John for a few seconds. 'I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid. That's…enough to be going on with, don't you think?' Sherlock fired off smugly, relishing the sight of the army doctor's stunned face.

As he made his way to the door Sherlock paused and turned back, almost as an afterthought. 'The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon!'

Watson turned back to his friend, utterly confused by this turn of events. 'Is..'

'Yeah. He's always like that' Stamford confirmed.

* * *

-Outside 221B Baker St-

'Ah, Doctor Watson' Sherlock called out cheerfully.

'Mr Holmes,' Watson greeted cordially.

'Sherlock, please' he replied, offering his hand to the good doctor. They shook.

'Well, this looks like a prime spot' John commented as he leaned back to inspect the outside of the building; it seemed in fairly good condition at least. 'Must be expensive.'

'Oh, don't worry' the tall man assured him. 'Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help her out.'

'You helped him cut a deal to stop his execution?'

'Oh no, I ensured it' Sherlock smiled. 'Now then, shall we?'

As he reached out to knock on the door it opened, revealing a matronly middle-aged woman. 'Sherlock!' she greeted, clearly pleased to see the younger man. John noticed that Sherlock's mouth twitched in what might have been pleasure at seeing her as he walked forward and hugged her briefly.

'Mrs Hudson, this is Doctor John Watson' Sherlock introduced.

'Hello' the doctor smiled, briefly shaking the landlady's hand.

'Pleasure to meet you' the woman replied, smiling at him a little awkwardly. 'Come in.'

As John limped up the steps to the first floor, he noticed that Sherlock was waiting for him at the door. Once he reached the landing, the other man opened the door and revealed the living room. It looked fairly nice, he thought, quite large with an excellent view of the street. A slight frown crossed his brow as he saw the clutter: several large, half-filled boxes, several books and files scattered over the desks and chairs, some of them overspilling to the floor. _Probably from the previous occupant_, he thought. He turned back to Sherlock, who seemed to be anxiously awaiting his verdict.

'Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed' he said non-committedly as he continued inspecting the flat. He grimaced slightly at the strong scent of chemicals wafting in from the kitchen – _all that equipment has to go_, the doctor decided. He turned back to Sherlock. 'I'll be your flatmate-'

'Yes, I thought so, so I went straight ahead and moved in- '

'- as soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out…Oh. So this is all…'

'Well, obviously I can, um, straighten everything up a bit' Sherlock said, realising the cause of his new flatmate's hesitation. He grabbed a couple of folders half-heartedly and began throwing them into a box. John looked around awkwardly and pointed at the mantelpiece. 'That's a skull.'

'Friend of mine,' Sherlock replied as he continued throwing files into his boxes. 'Well. I say friend…'

The two of them were spared any further awkward discourse when Mrs Hudson bustled in and looked around disapprovingly. 'Oh, Sherlock, the mess you've made!' she cried out. 'What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms.'

John blinked in surprise. 'Of _course_ we'll be needing two!'

'Oh, don't worry, I don't judge; there's all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door's got married ones' Mrs Hudson assured him.

John's mouth was open in surprise again. 'F-for the record, Mrs Hudson, Sherlock is not my boyfriend – I am not gay!' he stammered out, before looking at Sherlock pleadingly. Unfortunately for him, Sherlock was completely oblivious, busy checking something on his laptop.

'I looked you up on the Internet last night' John said idly, trying valiantly to break the awkward silence that had descended after his small outburst.

'Anything interesting?'

'Your website, the Science of Deduction.'

'What did you think?' Sherlock asked in a disinterested tone. Inside though, he was genuinely curious as to what the doctor's opinion might be. His brow furrowed slightly as he realised this – why did the good doctor's opinion matter so much to him?

_You have got to be kidding_, the doctor's face screamed at him. 'You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb' John said, slightly incredulous.

'Yes; and I read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone' Sherlock pointed out.

'How?' John asked, still perplexed by how the man in front of him had managed to derive so much from such meagre information. Sherlock glanced away and swept towards the window overlooking Baker St, apparently still a little miffed.

'What about those suicides, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same.'

'Four' the tall man whispered. He raised his voice, 'There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time.'

John spun around as he heard someone pounding up the staircase. A tall man burst into the room; despite only seeming to be in his thirties, his hair was already greying prematurely.

'Where?' Sherlock asked, directing his gaze toward the newcomer.

'Brixton, Lauriston Gardens. You know how they never leave notes? This one did. Will you come?'

'Who's on forensics?'

'Anderson.'

'Anderson won't work with me' Sherlock grimaced.

'Well, he won't be your assistant then.'

'I _need_ an assistant' Sherlock ground out.

'Will you come?'

'Not in a police car. I'll be right behind.'

'Thank you.'

As suddenly as he had entered, the grey-haired man left, with only a quick apologetic nod to Mrs Hudson and John.

'Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!' Sherlock exclaimed, manically dashing over to the scarf and coat he had thrown off just minutes before. 'Mrs Hudson, I'll be late, might need some food.'

'I'm your landlady dear, not your housekeeper' she gently reminded him.

'Something cold will do' Sherlock overrode. 'John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!' he called out as he ran straight through the door.

John blinked, completely bewildered by the tempest that was Sherlock Holmes.

'Look at him, dashing about all the time!' Mrs Hudson reproved. 'My husband was just the same. But you're more the sitting down type I can tell. I'll get you that cup of tea. You rest your leg.'

'_Damn_ my leg!' John shouted out before rubbing his head sheepishly. He tapped his leg with his cane. 'Sorry, I'm so, so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing…'

'I understand, dear; I've got a hip' Mrs Hudson waved off before moving towards the door. As John reached out for a newspaper lying on the coffee table, his senses suddenly screamed at him that he was being watched. Casually tilting his head to the side as adrenaline begun surging forth in his veins, John prepared to grab his cane and stab whoever was watching him with it before relaxing slightly.

'I thought you left' he commented.

'You're a doctor. In fact, you're an army doctor' Sherlock said, staring at him in a scrutinising way that made him feel like a slide under a microscope.

'Yes' John answered, getting to his feet.

'Any good?'

'_Very _good' the doctor asserted.

'You would have seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths. Trouble too, I imagine?' Sherlock queried.

'Yes, of course. Enough for a lifetime.' John paused. 'Far too much.'

'Want to see some more?'

'Oh _God_, yes.'

Sherlock smirked and led John down the stairs eagerly. Even though he was clearly chomping at the bit to be off as soon as possible, he kept himself to an average walking pace, something that the doctor was grateful for. As they reached the bottom of the stairs the pair neatly wove around Mrs Hudson.

'Sorry Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. I'm going out' John called, body still flushed with adrenaline, with excitement at the unknown.

'Both of you?' their landlady asked in surprise.

Sherlock spun around and kissed her on the cheek. 'Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something _fun_ going on!'

'Look at you, all happy. It's not decent' she admonished, although she was smiling slightly John noticed.

'Who cares about decent?' Sherlock scoffed. 'The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!'

* * *

-In a taxi to Brixton-

John kept sneaking glances at his companion, overwhelmed by curiosity about the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was apparently completely oblivious, tapping away onto his smartphone. Eventually, though, he relented and slipped his phone back into his coat pocket. 'OK, you've got questions' he stated. It wasn't a question.

'Yeah, first off, where are we going?' the doctor shot out.

'Crime scene. Next.'

'Who are you? What do you do?'

'What do you think?'

'I'd say private detective…' John hedged.

'But?'

'…but the police don't go to private detectives' the doctor concluded.

'I'm a _consulting_ detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job' the man beside him replied, with something that John realised was approaching pride.

'OK, but what do you _do_?' John insisted.

'It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me' Sherlock declared.

'The police don't consult amateurs' John fished out, intent on pressing the detective for more information. He felt a sense of trepidation creep over him as Sherlock's relaxed gaze sharped and flashed.

'When we met for the very first time yesterday, I said "Afghanistan or Iraq?", and you looked surprised' the detective threw out.

'Yes, how did you know?'

'From what I see,' said Sherlock, 'I deduce everything. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.'

'You- you said I had a therapist?' John deflected, determined to not be impressed.

'You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist' the detective shrugged. 'Then there's your brother. Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already. Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. _Could_ be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left _him_, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left _her_. He-'

'- gave the phone to me, indicating that he wants to stay in touch,' John broke in, deciding to humour Sherlock's assumption that Harry was his brother, 'I was looking for someone to share a flat with but wasn't going to Harry for help – that says I've got problems with him. Yes?'

'Precisely' Sherlock admitted, pleasantly surprised. This doctor was rather interesting. Shaking away his idle thoughts, he picked up his chain of deductions, 'Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you _don't_ like his drinking.'

'How can you _possibly_ know about the drinking?' John challenged.

'Shot in the dark,' Sherlock admitted, 'Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see – you were right.'

'_I _was right? Right about what?'

'The police don't consult amateurs' the consulting detective reminded him before looking out the side window nervously. Maybe I was a bit over the top, he probably thinks I'm a show-off now, he thought, biting his lip.

'That…was amazing' John praised, a statement that had his companion doing a double take and glancing at his face again.

'You really think so?'

'Of _course_ it was. It was extraordinary; it was…quite extraordinary' the doctor reiterated.

'Well, that's not what people normally say' Sherlock commented, oddly pleased at John's casual acceptance and praise. ' "Piss off", that's what they normally say' he added for the doctor's benefit, sending him into chuckles of dry amusement.

Sherlock broke the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of them as they got out of the cab, 'Did I get anything wrong?'

'Harry's short for Harriet' John confessed. Sherlock stopped so abruptly that John nearly stumbled into him.

'You played along with my assumption that Harry had to be a male,' he said admiringly, 'You could make a fine detective, John.'

_And you _will _be if I have anything to say about it, _Sherlock continued to himself inwardly. _Your deductive skills are not unworthy of further development, if what I saw in the cab was any indication. But I'll need more data…ah, perfect_, he chuckled to himself quietly. He glanced around- a large house- three storeys – was currently cordoned off and surrounded by police vehicles, so he started moving towards there.

'Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?' John asked him, surprised both by the seemingly random compliment and the sudden smugness that overcame his companion's features.

'Helping me inspect a crime scene' Sherlock replied amiably, in stark contrast to the immediate frostiness that overcame his expression as he saw who was manning the cordon- a certain Sergeant Sally Donovan.

'Hello, Freak' the woman barked out.

'I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade' the consulting detective rejoindered coolly, eager to head off to the crime scene as soon as possible. And, he admitted to himself, he didn't want the good Doctor to see his darker side. A slight frown crossed his face. Just _why_ did the doctor's opinion seem to mean so much to him? _That Perseus Jackson died a long time ago_ he reminded himself viciously.

_Well, you know what I think, don't you_ Donovan thought to herself silently, holding back her distaste for the man that seemed to make a living out of showing up her and her fellow policemen.

'Always, Sally' he called out. 'Oh, don't look so surprised, you were thinking so loud they could probably hear you from across the street' he pronounced snidely. He sniffed the air delicately – _men's deodorant_, he filed away in his brain. 'I even know that you didn't make it home last night.'

Donovan flushed in embarrassment as she realised what he was alluding to and, rather wisely, dropped it. 'Wait, who's this?' she called out, gesturing towards John, who she had only just noticed.

'Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson,' Sherlock introduced, 'Doctor Watson, this is Sergeant Sally Donovan. Let's go.'

As they continued forward towards the house, Sherlock scowled again. They're all popping out of the woodwork these days, he grumbled to himself.

'Ah, Anderson, here we are again' the detective greeted disinterestedly.

'It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?' Anderson spat out.

'Quite. And is your wife away for long?' Sherlock fired back, determined on giving as good as he got. He inhaled delicately – there it was, the same deodorant as Donovan's!

'Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that' Anderson glowered.

'Your deodorant told me that' he said pointedly.

'My- my deodorant?' Anderson asked disbelievingly.

'Well, it's for men.'

'Of _course_ it's for men! _I'm_ wearing it!'

'So is Sergeant Donovan' Sherlock sneered at him smugly. 'I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just _happened_ to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.'

'Dr Watson, you'll need to wear one of these' he gestured at a coverall and a pair of latex gloves, before snapping on his own pair. 'So Lestrade, where is the body?'

'Upstairs' the detective inspector rumbled, already making his way up the staircase. 'I can give you two minutes on the crime scene, no more' he added as they reached the top of the stairs. 'She's in there' he pointed.

'Might need longer' Sherlock said absentmindedly, mind already racing ahead as he gazed at the body from the doorway. 'What information can you give me?'

'Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her.'

Sherlock nodded and strode in confidently before coming to a complete stop. There was a woman's body face down on the floor, garbed, apparently, entirely in a revolting shade of pink. No signs of a struggle he noted to himself clinically before glancing at Lestrade. 'Shut up' he told the Detective Inspector.

'I didn't say anything' he protested.

'You were thinking too loud. It's annoying' Holmes shot back as he moved closer to examine the body. As he approached the corpse, he noticed something scratched into the floorboards – _Rache_? German for revenge, he remembered, before dismissing the notion – nothing about her indicated anything to do with links to Germany.

_Links to other victims – so far, nothing to suggest that the four people who died had anything to do with each other – the only link between them is the poison; so, there must be an intermediary that knew, or dealt with each of the four, someone that they must have trusted implicitly since in every case there were no signs of a struggle at all_, Sherlock theorised.

_Fingernails, chipped, with a bit of blood – she scratched it in herself, more and more likely that it's not meant to mean revenge, but then what, what, what?_

Sherlock ran through a list of words in his head before blinking and smiling. _Rachel_. _It's short for Rachel._

_Clothes are wet_ he noted as he gently touched her clothes with his gloved hands. _Umbrella in coat pocket, but its dry…she's definitely not from London because we haven't had any rain in the past few days…will need to check where rain has fallen in Britain in the past….few hours or so; if her clothes are still wet she must had lived within, what, two, three hours journey away from London. _Sherlock paused and pulled out a small magnifying glass and peered closely at her jewellery. _Bracelet … clean … earring … clean … wedding and engagement rings….dirty?_

He reached out and gently eased the two rings off her finger and inspected them closely. The outside of the ring was rather dull, smudged with flecks of dirt, but the inside of the ring was gleaming as if it had just been freshly polished. _Married, but rather unhappily clearly if she doesn't even bother to clean her wedding and engagement bands…ring must be regularly removed then, but why? She must not have wanted people to know she was married … ah, serial adulterer,_ he concluded.

'Got anything?' Lestrade prodded.

'Not much' Sherlock shot back as he pulled out his phone and navigated his way through to a UK weather app.

'She's German,' Anderson offered from the doorway, ' 'Rache'- German for revenge; she could be trying to-'

'Yes, thank you for your input' Sherlock interrupted as he closed the door in the man's face. As he turned back to Lestrade and John he slipped his phone back into his pocket and started firing off his deductions, 'She's not German, out of town though, intended to stay in London for the night before returning home to Cardiff; so far so obvious.'

'Sorry – what?' John blurted out.

'The message?' Lestrade urged.

Sherlock opted to ignore the Detective Inspector, much to his ire, instead turning to John – Dr Watson, he reminded himself. 'Doctor Watson, what do you think?,' he nodded at the body , 'You're a medical man are you not?'

'H-hang on, we've got a whole team right outside' Lestrade protested, reluctant at the idea of bringing in yet another outsider.

'They won't work with me, and Doctor Watson is, I can assure you, overqualified for this' Sherlock overrode his objections. As Lestrade made to protest again, Sherlock simply stepped a little closer to him and added, 'You _need_ me.'

The DI dropped his gaze, unable to meet the consulting detective's burning green pits. 'Yes, I do,' he sighed, running a hand through his grey hair, 'God help me. Help yourself, Doctor Watson. Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.'

'Well?' said consulting detective prodded. 'What do you think?'

The doctor gently pulled Holmes to the side started whispering harshly into his ear, 'What, exactly, am I meant to be doing here?'

'Examining the body, helping me investigate the crime scene- I thought that that was rather obvious' Sherlock frowned.

'I'm _supposed_ to be helping you pay the rent' the doctor protested.

'Yeah, well, this is more fun.'

'Fun? There's a woman lying dead' Watson scowled.

'Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you would go deeper' Sherlock acknowledged, his gaze piercing the doctor's stern blue eyes. He smiled inwardly as the doctor resigned dropped his gaze towards the body and started examining it. He quirked an eyebrow at Watson as he nodded to himself and looked at his companion. _Well_?

'Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs' Dr Watson said clinically.

'Sherlock, I don't mean to be a pain, but I need anything you've got' Lestrade chimed in.

'Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married' Sherlock rattled off.

'Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ...' the DI started.

'Wedding ring,' the consulting detective interrupted, pointing at the offending article of jewellery, 'Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who _does_ she remove her rings for? Clearly not _one_ lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.'

'OK, but Cardiff?' Lestrade asked, scribbling down the bare bones of Sherlock's rant.

'Coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, _strong_ wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? A quick check online says Cardiff' Holmes continued. 'Elementary.'

'That's fantastic!' John exclaimed. At a look from Sherlock, he sheepishly added, 'Sorry, I'll, ah, shut up now.'

'No, it's…fine' Holmes said slowly, still surprised at how the good Doctor easily accepted his deductive prowess. It felt…good.

'Holmes, why do you keep talking about a suitcase?' Lestrade inquired, still scribbling down the information the consultant had given him just moments before.

Said consultant sighed and pointed at the woman's body. 'Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night. Now, where is it? What have you done with it?'

'Sherlock, there was no case' Lestrade told him. 'We didn't find any suitcase here.'

_Incompetent as Scotland Yard might be, even they couldn't lose a suitcase_ Sherlock thought to himself, mind racing.

'Maybe she got to a hotel and left it there?' Watson offered.

'No, no, no, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking like….Oh. Oh!'

Sherlock clapped his hands and ran outside. Completely mystified by the consultant's actions, Lestrade and John strode after him. 'Sherlock, what is it?' Lestrade boomed down the staircase.

'These aren't suicides, they're serial killings!,' the consultant shouted back, 'Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!'

John swore mentally as he watched Sherlock dash off into the night and leave him behind. 'Yeah, just leave me alone, why don't you, you _bloody git_' he snarled out. As he started limping away from the cordoned off house, Sergeant Donovan approached him, examining him curiously, not quite sure of what to make of the new outsider.

'You're not his friend' she called out. 'He doesn't _have_ friends. So who are you?'

'Me? I'm…I'm nobody' he shrugged. 'I just met him yesterday.'

'Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy. You know why he's here – why he's really here? It's not for the pay. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there.'

Watson frowned – sure, Sherlock bloody Holmes was a complete git and eccentric but he couldn't imagine the man doing something so….mundane. Feeling the need to at least defend his new flatmate, he spoke up, 'And why would he do that?'

'Because he's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored' Donovan told him, with such conviction that he almost believed it. She turned away as Lestrade began calling for her, throwing over her shoulder, 'If you know what's good for you, stay away from Sherlock Holmes.'

'Right' John blinked. _If I remember what DI Lestrade said, we're in Brixton right now…the main road should be….there._ The doctor nodded to himself and began limping away from the crime scene, eager to get back to the comforts of Baker St. Just as he reached the main road and prepared to hail a taxi, his phone started ringing. John frowned – no one should have this number apart from Harry and Sherlock and he certainly wasn't on speaking terms with the former, whilst the caller ID didn't match Sherlock's. He answered the phone.

'Hello?' he spoke into the phone.

'Dr John Watson,' a smooth, oily voice dripped through, 'formerly of the Royal Army Medical Corps and the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. We have a common acquaintance, Doctor Watson – one Sherlock Holmes, to be precise. I'd like to speak with you about him.'

John scowled as he heard the unctuous voice; he knew well the type of man such voices belonged to – schemers, backstabbers, politicians.

'I'm afraid that I don't-'

'Get in the car, Doctor Watson' the voice continued before promptly hanging up. John glanced around- a black car pulled up beside in; the door opened. John Watson, former army doctor of Great Britain, sighed and got in the car.

* * *

-Empty warehouse-

Mycroft Holmes sniffed delicately as he surveyed the empty abattoir. Though intellectually he understood the necessity of all this subterfuge, he felt nothing but disdain for the filthy warehouse – the strong sense of chemicals and rancid meat pervaded the air, filling his nostrils and sending his stomach churning in revulsion.

'Ah, Doctor Watson, welcome' the elder Holmes sibling greeted with a very obviously insincere smile.

'You know, you could have asked me your questions on the phone' John said tightly.

'When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place' Mycroft retorted, before deciding to launch right into his impromptu interrogation. 'What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?'

'I don't _have_ one' Watson sighed. 'I barely know him, I just met him yesterday.'

'Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?' Mycroft pressed. _Angry people make rash decisions, perhaps he'll reveal something_…

'Who _are_ you?' the doctor countered.

'I'm an interested party' Mycroft deadpanned.

'Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends' John questioned.

'You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having' Mycroft sneered. In truth, the two of them were actually quite close – as close as two people such as them could possibly be, at any rate. 'An enemy. Well, in _his_ mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his _arch_-enemy. He does love to be dramatic.' he added for Watson's benefit.

John frowned as his phone buzzed.

**Baker St. Come at once if convenient- SH**

'I do hope that I'm not distracting you' Mycroft said, a little miffed at being ignored.

'Oh no, not at all' the doctor smiled at him thinly.

The elder Holmes sibling decided to get straight to the point. 'Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?'

'I would think that that's personal, and as such, none of your bloody business mate' John snapped out tightly. He was just so infuriated – first by Sherlock's antics, and now by being dragged out to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

'It could be' Mycroft rasped out ominously.

'Trust me, it really couldn't' John spat out.

'If you _do_ move into, ah, two hundred and twenty-one _B_ Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way' Mycroft hinted as he consulted his notebook.

'Why?'

'Because you're not a wealthy man; consider it an act of charity, if you will.'

'Charity implies that you're not expecting it to be repaid. So, money in exchange for what?'

'Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel ... uncomfortable with. I'd just like you to tell me what he's up to. As for why… I worry about him. Constantly.'

'Rather nice of you.'

'But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship.'

John blinked as his phone received another text from Sherlock.

**If inconvenient, come anyway- SH **

**PS. Could be dangerous**

'No' John shot at the man. 'No, I'm not spying on him for you. Good night.'

'I haven't mentioned a figure-'

'Don't bother' the doctor said calmly.

Mycroft peered closely at the doctor that Sherlock had decided on as a flatmate, putting the entirety of his considerable mind towards deducing the man. _Brave, loyal, reliable, strong, strong moral principles, smart…_

Mycroft shook away those deductions and smiled at the doctor genuinely this time. 'We'll meet again, Doctor Watson' he promised, and gestured for Anthea to escort the man home – Hades knew how Sherlock would react to losing his pet project after only one day. Speaking of which…Mycroft fired off a text towards his wayward brother.

**I was impressed by your flatmate- MH**

* * *

-221B Baker St-

Sherlock grinned as he sent out a text using his burner phone to Ms Wilson's phone.

**What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland St, please come.**

He blinked as his own personal phone buzzed; from Mycroft apparently.

**I was impressed by your flatmate- MH**

The detective immediately scowled – he didn't need his stupidly overprotective sibling vetting who he chose to live with!

He sighed and started squatting on his armchair, waiting for John impatiently. It wasn't long before he heard the good doctor pounding up the stairs, gun in hand, and, curiously, missing a walking stick.

'You'll be taking the room upstairs then I take it?' Sherlock smiled at him.

'W-what?' John stammered out in surprise. Sherlock lazily pointed at his legs in response.

'Knew it was psychosomatic' the detective congratulated himself. 'Anyway, that's not why I called you here -'. Sherlock stopped talking as he realised that John was looking at the glaringly pink case situated on the small coffee table.

'That's- that's the pink lady's case' John said slowly.

'Yes, obviously' Sherlock drawled, before remembering that John had a gun at hand. 'Perhaps I should mention before you shoot me and call the police: I didn't kill her' he added dryly.

'I never said you did' the doctor said warily.

'You didn't have to; I could read it off your face' Holmes answered before slipping into a normal sitting position. 'Given the fact that I had her case, it was a perfectly logical assumption.'

'Do people usually assume that you're the murderer?'

'Now and then, yes' the detective shrugged.

'OK...how did you get this?' Watson asked, prepared for another lengthy rant as Holmes rattled off a chain of deductions. He wasn't disappointed.

'The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens; took me less than an hour to find' Sherlock spouted out.

'Now, when I checked the case and the notes that Lestrade's team took, I noticed that there was one item missing- her phone' he continued. 'We know she had one, there was a tag on her case,' he gestured vaguely at said piece of baggage, 'so where could it have ended up? She wouldn't have left it at home; running a string of lovers and leaving her phone at home is just asking to get caught – she would _never_ leave her phone at home. She-'

'She could have lost it, not likely though; the only remaining possibility is that the killer has the phone' John broke in, before rubbing his head sheepishly. 'Ah, sorry about that – guess I just got a little caught up.'

'No…it's fine' Sherlock waved off. 'I'm impressed really, most people can't follow my train of thought. But…anyway, I took the liberty of texting the phone; with any luck, the killer won't have disposed of it. And if they haven't, then when they receive my text, they'd panic! Let's go.'

'Go? Go where?'

John was starting to get seriously frustrated at his companions antics. _I am going to have a long talk with him about teamwork after this blows over_, he vowed to himself.

'I'll fill you in on the way there' Sherlock told him as he shrugged on his coat.

-Later that night after chasing down the cabbie and returning to 221B-

Sherlock and John burst into adrenaline-fuelled laughter and leaned back against the wall together.

'That- that was, exhilarating' the doctor exhaled.

'Indeed' the detective grinned at him. Before they could exchange any more conversation Mrs Hudson bustled in.

'Oh, Sherlock, what have you done?' she asked tearfully.

'Mrs Hudson?' Sherlock asked in confusion.

'Upstairs' she pointed.

Sherlock gritted his teeth and shot off up the stairs. _What are they doing here?_ he thought to himself as he gave the flat a onceover – uniformed police officers were swarming inside _his_ sanctum sanctorum, violating every nook and cranny. He stormed over to Lestrade, who was casually lounging in _his_ armchair. 'What do you think you're doing?' he hissed out.

'Well, I knew that you'd find the case. I'm not stupid' Lestrade answered affably.

'You can't just break into my flat!'

'And you can't withhold evidence. And I _didn't_ break into your flat, this is a drugs bust.'

'Seriously? _This_ guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?' John spoke up; Sherlock looked downwards momentarily in embarrassment - he had poured himself into a syringe in the aftermath of Redbeard's death. Odd as it might sound, he didn't regret it though – it had put him into contact with, he grudgingly admitted to himself, one of Scotland Yard's finest, and, perhaps, even a new friend.

'John…' he started.

'I'm pretty sure that if you searched this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational' John continued.

'John, you probably want to shut up _now_' Sherlock spoke up, spearing him with his eyes warningly.

'No. _You_?' John gaped.

'Oh, shut up' Sherlock replied tetchily. He turned back to Lestrade. 'I'm not your sniffer dog.'

'No, Anderson's my sniffer dog' Lestrade nodded towards the kitchen. Said police officer, along with Donovan sneered at Sherlock from the kitchen and waved at him sarcastically.

'W-what are they doing here on a drugs bust?' Sherlock growled out.

'Oh, I volunteered' Anderson said mockingly.

'They all did; they're not strictly speaking _on_ the drugs squad, but they're very keen' Lestrade threw in, relishing in the sight of the normally lackadaisical Sherlock Holmes floundering. But enough was enough; he gestured at the other policemen to stop searching. He leaned forward and looked at Sherlock seriously. 'Sherlock, this is _our_ case. I'm letting you in as a consultant, but you do _not_ go off on your own. Clear?' the DI asserted.

'Quite clear' Holmes replied reluctantly, seating himself in another armchair. 'Have you found Rachel?'

'Never mind _that_. We found the case. According to _someone_, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath' Anderson chimed in, jabbing a finger violently at said psychopath.

'Oh, do shut up Anderson. I'm not a psychopath; I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research' Holmes tossed back at him before steepling his fingers and focusing on Lestrade. 'You were saying?'

'Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.'

'Wh- that makes no sense…Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?'

'Well, you said that the murderer makes them take the pills themselves; maybe he, I don't know, used the memory of her daughter somehow?' John interjected.

'Oh, please, it was fourteen years ago, why would she still be upset?' Sherlock dismissed. A rather awkward silence fell, with Lestrade and John determinedly not meeting his eyes. 'Oh…not good?'

'A bit not good, yeah' John agreed.

'She was dying from poison. She scratched the message into the floor with her fingernails – you saw them, they were chipped, bleeding a bit. It took effort. It would have hurt' Holmes explained. 'Wilson's trying to tell us something!'

'Sherlock, your taxi's here!' Mrs Hudson cried out from the staircase.

'I didn't order a taxi, tell them to go away!' Holmes roared back, as he started pacing back and forth furiously, pressing fingertips tightly against his temples. 'Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off.'

'What? My _face_ is?!' Anderson spluttered.

Sherlock completely ignored him, and only vaguely heard Lestrade shouting at Anderson to turn his back as he descended into his mind palace.

_Rachel-stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago-irrelevant-Jennifer Wilson, serial adulterer, clever, why would she lose her phone….unless she DIDN'T lose her phone…_

'Ah! She was clever, clever, yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't _lose_ her phone, she never lost it. She _planted_ it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer' Sherlock enthused before dashing over to his laptop. 'On the case, she had an email address listed, jenny dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk, and the password is Rachel!'

'So we can read her emails, so what?' Anderson derided.

'Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the one who killed her' Holmes explained.

'Sherlock, dear, this taxi driver is very insistent that you called him…' Mrs Hudson told him from the doorway.

'Tell him to go-' Sherlock paused as his laptop whirred and the screen dissolved into a map. And according to this map…the phone was in 221B.

_That's impossible, I wouldn't have missed it being in the case, and I most certainly wouldn't have dropped it…._ _Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?_ _Who do we trust, even if we don't know them? _Unbidden, his mind flashed to his trip to Lauriston Gardens with John in the back of a cab. His eyes widened. _A taxi driver_.

His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts.

**Come with me, or they die.**

No matter how much he disliked the majority of Scotland Yard, he wouldn't let them all die, nor would he allow for innocents to be harmed when he could stop it. Not even if they were dull, boring and utterly irritating. 'John, I'm going out for some fresh air' Sherlock improvised, and rose, moving outside the flat and down the staircase to the cab waiting outside.

'Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes' the cabbie called out, leaning casually against his vehicle. His name was Jeff Hope according to the ID card loosely dangling form a cord around his neck.

'You're the cabbie that stopped outside Northumberland Street' Holmes realised. 'It was you, not your passenger.'

'No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer' Hope replied.

'Is that a confession?'

'Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise. Why? Because you're not gonna do that.'

'You seem rather certain of that, Mr Hope' Holmes commented.

'I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes. I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing' Hope leaned forward seriously, 'I will never tell you what I said that made them kill themselves. An' you won't ever understand how those people died. So get in the cab.'

Holmes shrugged and sighed dramatically before opening the door and sliding himself in. His eyes flashed and danced in their sockets as they roved the interior of the vehicle. _Behind Hope's left ear, dried shaving foam, on the dashboard, a framed picture of a younger man – Hope himself with two children, but rather clearly torn; his clothes, judging from their fading, rather old, but clean, recently laundered – _

* * *

-221B Baker St-

'The Freak just got into a cab' Donovan reported. John's jaw tightened as he saw how the other police officers just accepted that slur to Sherlock – true, he didn't seem overly nice, but he wasn't actively going out of his way to antagonise them either. An anonymous complaint might be in order he thought

'Donovan, do shut up' Lestrade growled out, much to John's surprise – he hadn't thought that the DI would come to his flatmate's defense. 'Holmes is a human being too you know, and a valued consultant, the only reason our squad has such a high solving rate is because of him!'

'Does it matter? Does _any_ of it? You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll _always_ let you down, and you're wasting your time. _All_ our time' Donovan frothed.

Lestrade glared at his subordinate disapprovingly before turning to face the rest of the team. 'Alright everybody, we're done here, put everything back in it's proper place' he hollered out.

As the police officers started filing through the doorway, Lestrade turned to John and demanded 'Why did he do that? Why did he just leave?'

'Well, you know him better than I do' the doctor shrugged.

'I've known him for five years and no, I don't, I really doubt that' the DI sighed, and made to leave.

'So why do you put up with him then?' John called out. The DI ran a hand through his greying hair and turned back.

'Because, even if no one else on the force seems to admit it, we _need_ him,' Lestrade answered, 'and because Sherlock Holmes is a good man, he's always had my back. Even though he's…eccentric, that doesn't change those facts. Unfortunately, not everyone sees it my way…'

He smiled resignedly and left. John stared after him consideringly – perhaps Lestrade wasn't the incompetent he'd initially taken him to be. Perhaps…as he took his cane and prepared to go back to his bedsit, Sherlock's laptop beeped triumphantly. John leaned over and checked the phone's location – just outside a Roland-Kerr Further Education College. He frowned. _What business would a serial killer have there in the middle of the night?_ Unless…unless they were planning another one he realised. John Watson, formerly of the Royal Army Medical Corps and the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, grabbed his flatmate's laptop, patted down his coat pocket to make sure his gun was still there, and charged downstairs, intent on stopping another murder from being committed.

* * *

-Roland-Kerr College-

'Bit risky, wasn't it? Abducting me right under the nose of half a dozen policemen. And Mrs Hudson will remember you' Holmes commented coolly, propping his feet up onto a nearby bench.

'You call that a risk? Nah. _This_ is a risk' Hope replied, pulling out a small glass bottle. Sherlock's eyes flickered to it – inside was a single capsule – the poison? A nagging suspicion began to grow in his mind, which was only confirmed when Hope pulled out a second bottle, identical to the first down to its contents, to the naked eye at least.

'You weren't expecting this, were you Mr 'olmes?' Hope smirked. 'Look at you! Sherlock 'olmes'. 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it.'

'A _fan_ of mine?'

Hope ignored him and continued, 'You are brilliant. You _are_. A proper genius. "The Science of Deduction". Now that is _proper_ thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think? Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just _think_?'

'Oh, I see, you're a proper genius too' Sherlock drawled in condescension. The cabbie didn't know what he was talking about – after meeting Daedalus and the other Holmes family members, his perception of genius had been completely redefined. Euler, Gauss, Einstein, Heisenberg…none of them could compare to Mrs Holmes, and the youngest generation of the Holmes family – himself and Mycroft were her acknowledged superiors when it came to mental acuity.

'Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you _ever_ know' Hope hissed out.

'OK. Two bottles, one has poison, the other a harmless pill I presume?' Holmes queried.

'Precisely' the cabbie nodded. 'You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die. You choose one pill first, and I take the other.'

Sherlock grinned as he felt his heart racing, adrenaline flooding his body. This sounded interesting. 'I suppose this is what you gave the rest of them?' he stalled for time, eyes riveted on the two pills, striving to see the tiniest difference between them, to draw upon some niche of his pharmacological knowledge that might help him tell which pill was the poisonous one. So far as he could tell, they were perfectly identical…

'Yes, and now I'm givin' you one' Hope said calmly, head swaying back and forth in a near-hypnotic fashion. 'Take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game' he grinned, licking his lips in anticipation.

'This is no game, it's chance' Sherlock growled out, disappointed at the proclaimed 'proper genius'. Did he really think that someone of his calibre would believe that he hadn't found a way to rig the odds?

'I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... _this_ ... is the move' Hope smiled, sliding a bottle across to Holmes. 'Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one. You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes? Ready to play?'

'There's nothing _to_ play, this is fifty-fifty chance' Holmes ground out. A slight frown crossed his brow – he STILL couldn't see any difference between the two pills…unless they were both poison? No, that didn't make sense, and yet…once one had eliminated the impossible, all that remained, no matter how improbable, had to be the truth. _How_ was the cabbie surviving if both pills were poisonous? _Medication_ – it has to be his medication for something!, Holmes exulted.

'Chance? Four people dead, and I'm still walking, there's something more than just chance at play here Mr 'olmes. You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' _me_. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a _triple_-bluff? I know 'ow people think _I_ think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone's so stupid – even you' Hope spat out.

Sherlock smiled evenly and steepled his fingers as he said, 'Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie. So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?'

'Time to play' Hope evaded, nodding at the bottles.

'Oh, I _am_ playing' Sherlock rebutted, leaning forwards on his elbows until he was staring directly at the cabbie. 'There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it _still_ hurts. Ah, but there's more. Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing's at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's _that_ about?'

He peered closely at the man over his fingertips. _Lack of personal care for himself, utter confidence, kamikaze murder spree…he's dying, isn't he? So those pills are his medication…but medication for what? Too many drugs I can think of, need to narrow it down…_

'Three years ago, is that when they told you?,' he continued. 'That you're a dead man walking?'

'So are you' the cabbie shrugged.

'So, what is it, a – a stroke? Congestive heart failure?'

'Aneurysm,' the cabbie tapped the side of his head, 'right 'ere. Any breath could be my last.'

'And because you're dying, you decided to go and kill four people?' Holmes frowned. 'I don't think so, bitterness is paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children.'

'Ohh…' Hope sighed. 'You _are_ good, ain't you? When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs.'

'Or serial killing, for that matter' Holmes interjected.

'You'd be surprised.'

'Surprise me, then' Holmes challenged.

Hope smirked and leaned forward. 'I 'ave a sponsor' he grinned.

'W-what? Who'd sponsor a serial killer?'

'Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes? You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man ... and they're so much more than that.'

What d'you mean, _more_ than a man? An organisation? What? What d'you mean, _more_ than a man? An organisation? What?'

'What d'you mean, _more_ than a man? An organisation? What?' Sherlock questioned. If there was an organisation out there sponsoring murderers, he needed to inform Scotland Yard, regardless of their differences. A gnawing suspicion began to grow in the depths of his mind.

'There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter' the cabbie nodded at the two bottles. 'Time to play.'

'Or I _could_ just walk right out of here' Sherlock challenged. In response, the cabbie pulled out something from his pocket – a gun? Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he looked at it. No, not a gun, just a very good fake he decided.

'You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head' Hope promised.

'We're done here' Sherlock replied, getting to his feet. 'We both know that those pills are the same – blood thinners – and that that gun is nothing more than a fake' he threw over his shoulder. As he made to leave, he paused and turned back around to the cabbie. 'Out of curiosity, what _did_ you mean when you said that there were others out there, _more_ than a man? An organisation? A god?'

He noticed the stricken look that flickered over the cabbie's face as he asked his last question, only to be replaced by his impassive veneer once again. Suspicion confirmed. 'Actually, it doesn't even matter' he answered himself. 'I'm sure that you'll still be able to tell us in prison.'

_That man is a demigod_, he thought, mind already racing ahead. _He said that there were others out there who enjoyed a good murder – criminal demigods that never made it to camp? _

As he pretended to turn his back on Hope, he tensed his muscles loosely, ears strained to perceive the whisper that preceded a weapon being drawn – there! He threw himself to the side, just barely dodging the arrow that had been fired at his heart. Before he could do more than that, a gunshot rang out, and Hope fell down, bleeding from his left shoulder. Holmes spared him a cursory glance – he was incapacitated for the moment but the wound was fatal – he had already lost so much blood. He moved swiftly to the window, tracing back the bullet's trajectory mentally. No sign of the shooter, he noticed idly before turning back to Hope.

'Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name' Sherlock growled out.

'No' the soon to be former cabbie croaked out.

'The police are coming, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name!' Sherlock snarled out. I would feel guilty about this if he wasn't a serial killer, he thought to himself, and firmly planted his foot onto the man's shoulder. 'The NAME!'

'MORIARTY' the cabbie screamed out. Sherlock glanced at the bow and drew upon the power Hecate had bestowed him ten years ago. _Burn_! he commanded mentally; within seconds, the bow had disappeared, completely atomised. The arrow Hope had fired followed seconds later.

_Moriarty, Moriarty, I've never heard that name before in my life_, Sherlock frowned. _This sounds rather interesting_ he smirked to himself.

* * *

-Outside Roland-Kerr College-

'So, the shooter. No sign?' Holmes demanded of Lestrade.

'None, cleared off before we got here. Don't have anything to go on either' Lestrade shrugged. 'Unless you…'

'The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service ... and nerves of steel…' Sherlock trailed off as he saw John patiently waiting for him outside the police cordon. _He shot it to save me_, he realised. _How could I turn him in for that?_

'Actually, you know what, just, um, ignore me' he muttered. At Lestrade's questioning glance he brandished the blanket lying around his shoulders. 'Look, I'm, I'm in shock, I've got a blanket!'

_Have to make sure that they don't discover it's John,_ he reminded himself. _Appeal to the man's sentiment_.

'Look, Lestrade, I just saw a man get shot in front of me, so if you don't mind, I'm going to go home and rest. I'll answer your questions for you tomorrow and help investigate' Sherlock relented.

The DI hesitated, and offered Holmes a card. 'That's the name of a good, um, therapist, if you feel that you'll be needing to talk about it to someone' Lestrade told him, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Holmes blinked, genuinely surprised that the normally impassive DI was doing this, and took the card. Perhaps Scotland Yard wasn't so hopeless after all, with a man like him in its ranks. 'OK. I'll see you tomorrow, no, make that three days in my office. Off you go then' he cleared his voice and turned to speak to his officers; taking the hint, the consultant moved towards his flatmate.

'Let's have dinner; I'll pay. End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two' Sherlock offered to John as he came close. 'Are you alright?' he added in a hushed voice as they began striding away. 'You did just shoot a man.'

'I've _seen_ men die before – good men, friends of mine. Thought I'd never sleep again. I'll sleep fine tonight.'

'That's good,' Sherlock nodded in approval. 'Very good indeed…'

_He'll make a fine partner_, Holmes mused to himself.

_This man, this Moriarty…I didn't know there even existed any demigods out here in Europe…what was he trying to achieve by sponsoring a serial killer? Surely he knew that I would catch him…he must have _wanted _me to catch him; he wanted me to be aware of his presence?_

Sherlock grinned. _It's been a while since I've had a nemesis_. _Not in over ten years…I haven't this alive since fighting Gaea. __I will not fall to anyone, not even this _Moriarty_._

**Author's note: So do you readers think it's coming along alright - that I did the Sherlock TV series justice?**

**Thanks for the positive reviews so far everyone, it means quite a bit to me! Again, I would like to ask - what stories from the canonical Sherlock Holmes would you like to be incorporated into this story? Please leave a review stating which stories you would like incorporated (excluding the following: A Study in Scarlet, The Final Problem, The Empty House, The Sign of Four, The Hounds of the Baskervilles, A Scandal in Bohemia, The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton). I only have space for two or three cases, remember, so pick wisely!**


	4. The Geek Interpreter

Disclaimer: Same as chapter 1

* * *

Chapter 4: The Geek Interpreter

-Scotland Yard-

'Well?' Lestrade demanded, leaning casually on the doorframe. 'What do you think?'

_Jeff Hope, died from blood loss after being shot by Doctor Watson; his blood thinners meant that he just kept bleeding…_

'I'd like to see the notes on the bullet that your people made' Holmes ignored him. Lestrade paused for a moment and consulted his notebook.

'This bullet is rather strange, half steel, half gold…some others are half steel, half bronze...who the hell uses gold and bronze in a bullet?' Lestrade said in confusion.

Holmes blinked and turned to Lestrade apologetically, still engrossed examining Hope's body. 'Sorry, what was that? Half _gold _and _bronze_ bullet? May I see it?'

'Sure' Lestrade shrugged and passed him an evidence bag. Holmes' eyes flickered to the bag and widened slightly. For, to his senses, that bullet was practically saturated with divine power. _Imperial gold? Celestial bronze? What is John doing with something like that? Is he a demigod? A legacy?_

'Interesting….unfortunately, I can't tell you anything that you don't already know' Sherlock said regretfully. 'Pity.'

'Oh. OK' Lestrade said in surprise. Sherlock spun around and headed towards the receptionist desk.

'I need the paperwork for a paid consultant' he snapped to the receptionist, who scurried off to fetch his 'requested' papers. If John was going to be working alongside him in the future, and he desperately hoped that he would, he was damn well going to be paid, and paid fairly for his services, Sherlock thought to himself, nodding sharply.

'Thank you' he nodded at the receptionist before sweeping out the door to hail a taxi to Baker St; subconsciously, he turned the collar of his coat up.

* * *

-221B Baker St-

John glanced around the flat; in the week since he had moved in, Sherlock had tidied up 221B significantly- the living room had been emptied of boxes, the paperwork that had been spilling onto the floor was gone and neatly filed away or filled out. Sherlock had been rather courteous, if reserved. In the past week, he'd taken on and solved three cases with the doctor, raking in a tidy sum that he split evenly and subsequently invested. _Speaking of money, I need a job _John mused to himself. He flipped open his laptop and started searching for job vacancies – surely somewhere there had to be an opening for a locum. Half an hour after he started this, he heard Sherlock storming up the stairs; the man tossed him a folder. The doctor raised an eyebrow at his companion. _What's inside?_

_Open it and find out_ his flatmate grinned. John shrugged and opened the file, blinking in surprise at the forms inside. 'Why am I staring at paperwork that would make me a paid consultant for Scotland Yard?' he demanded.

Sherlock shrugged and answered, 'Well, if you're going to do cases with me you might as well get paid for doing so. It's not great pay but it's a decent amount. You _were_ looking for a job, weren't you?'

'Well, yes, but I was thinking of getting a job as a lo-'

'Locum, yes I know, I called Stamford and he's talking to a few of his contacts; he'll set that up for you' Holmes interrupted. 'But I need _you_ to help me on cases – I took a look at your CV and your experience is quite extensive; I would like to make use of those services as I have in the past week on a more…permanent basis.'

John blinked and considered Sherlock's offer. 'You're- you're asking me to be your subordinate?'

'No, as my partner' Holmes corrected. 'Though…if you are willing, I would very much like to try to teach you the science of deduction – your deductive skills are not unworthy of further development.'

John stared at him blankly. 'You – you want me to be your partner' John repeated. 'Why?'

'Like I said, your deductive skills are not unworthy of further development, and I find your medical expertise is invaluable' Sherlock shrugged, looking directly into the doctor's eyes.

_He looks sincere_, John thought. He smiled up at the eccentric man in front of him. 'Well in that case, I'd very much like to take you up on that offer.'

'By the way, I forgot to mention this earlier, what with the shooting and all, but three days ago, a man offered me money to spy on you' John confessed.

His new colleague turned to him, looking - shockingly – completely amused by the confession. 'Did you take it?' said he. 'How much did he offer you?'

'No, of course not' Watson replied, a little offended that Holmes thought so little of him. 'Not enough, Sherlock – never enough. Though I didn't exactly let him mention any figures – I just told him to piss off' he admitted wryly.

'Pity, we could have split the fee, think it through next time' Holmes replied, shaking his head at the doctor in mock disappointment. Inside, though, he was rather touched at the loyalty the doctor had shown towards him, despite them only having known each other for four days. _I won't let you down_, he promised his flatmate silently. 'Anyway, your schedule looks rather free today, so I'm going to start teaching you right now.'

* * *

-Two months later-

During the time that he had spent with Sherlock Holmes, Dr John H. Watson had learned more things than he ever had during his time at university in the pursuit of the study of criminology. Despite his flatmate's constant impatience and irritability, he proved to be an excellent instructor, particularly in his passion of science, particularly chemistry, but also in British and international law, as well as inane things such as how to distinguish between different soils and tobacco ashes at a glance. The man had also painstakingly taught him numerous other skills – how to pick locks, the art of disguise, dusting for fingerprints and parkour – for the occasional rooftop chase, his partner had explained, deep sea green eyes swirling with amusement. In his turn, the doctor had repaid Holmes by sharing with him snippets of his vast medical knowledge - mainly with rare diseases and other such medical conditions, something that Holmes found useful more often than not when they were investigating cases together. Though, John was astounded by his flatmate's own admittedly vast medical knowledge - it was almost as if he had been trained as a doctor himself...

Despite their rapidly flowering friendship, watered by the sheer amount of time that they spent in each other's presence, Holmes had barely shared any details of his life with Watson. He had learned only a few details about his flatmate- that he graduated Oxford as equal first of his class with Molly Hooper, one of the few friends he seemed to have, that he was a graduate chemist, and was fluent in at least three languages (English, Greek and Latin). On one of the few occasions that Holmes had decided to take on a case by himself, John had snuck into his colleague's bedroom in an attempt to deduce more about his partner's life before they had met. Sherlock's room was surprisingly Spartan- bare green walls, a queen sized bed, a bedside table, dressing table, a large working desk and a storage cabinet. He was disappointed though – even after rummaging through the drawers and checking for any false bottoms and hidden compartments, he still hadn't found anything personal; it was as if the man had no human attachments in the world apart from himself, Molly and Mrs Hudson.

_If he's an orphan, that could explain the lack of photographs, but surely he would have some from his teenaged years and early adult life,_ John mused as he regarded Sherlock, who was peering curiously at some cultures of mould under a microscope in the kitchen. Even after spending two months together, Sherlock Holmes was still a mystery to him; if anything, he was even more of a mystery than when they had first started living together. The doorbell rang; the two of them turned to face the door eagerly.

'Single ring. Maximum pressure, just under half a second. Client!' they deduced in unison. Sherlock bounded over to the door eagerly, before blinking in surprise. _Mycroft. What was he doing here?_

'What are you doing here?' Sherlock asked in surprise, stepping back to allow his brother inside.

'Sherlock. That's him, that's the man I was talking to you about – your archenemy' John sputtered as he saw Mycroft, who merely smirked at him in response. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brother – _Really?_, it seemed to be asking. _Oh, it's been ages since I've had fun, let me have some amusement where I can_, Mycroft's face twitched in reply.

'What are you doing here?' Sherlock demanded in what he hoped came across as a furious tone - if Mycroft wanted his fun, then he'd let him.

'As ever, I'm concerned about you' Mycroft replied pleasantly.

'Yes, I've been hearing about your, ah, "concern"' the younger Holmes said snidely.

'You've always been so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that we could work together?'

'Oddly enough, no!'

'We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy.'

The two Holmes siblings stifled their amusement at John's dumbfounded face. 'John, you might want to breathe' Sherlock commented as his partner's face began turning a little purple, jaw hanging open as he stared at them blankly.

'Y-you're brothers?' the doctor croaked out finally in shock.

'Yes, of course he's my brother – I thought that was fairly obvious' the younger Holmes replied.

'So – so he's not…'

'Not what?'

'…I don't know, a criminal mastermind?'

'Close enough.'

'For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government' Mycroft broke in.

'Don't listen to him John, he _is_ the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis' Sherlock denied. 'So brother dear, what are you doing here?'

'I have a case for you' the elder Holmes said before stepping aside, revealing a slightly pudgy teenager. 'Might I introduce you to Mr Chris Melas, son of Richard Melas, an official in the British government? I have put my personal assurances that you'll be on this case little brother' he introduced, before turning away to leave.

'Congratulations on becoming my brother's protégé by the way Doctor Watson – Sherlock speaks rather highly of you' he added over his shoulder before sauntering down the stairs, spinning his black umbrella.

* * *

-Five minutes later, 221B Baker St-

Sherlock stared at Chris Melas over his steepled fingertips. The nervous youth was awkwardly shifting around in his chair, unable to meet his penetrating gaze. _I'm not that scary, am I?_ he wondered to himself. 'Right, so Chris, Mycroft said that you had a case for us?' John prodded gently.

'Y-yes' he squeaked out. 'I-I have a website; it's to do with graphic novels -'

'Comic books?' Sherlock scoffed.

'_Graphic novels_, Mr Holmes' Melas said firmly in an unexpected show of defiance before rearing back slightly as Holmes levelled his gaze at him. 'A-anyway, I have a website t-that explains the true meaning of comic books, b-because people miss a lot of the themes…' the teen trailed off as he realised Sherlock was already walking away in disinterest. 'B-but then all there was this comic book that started coming true!' he added hastily. Sherlock paused and turned back, curiosity aroused.

'Interesting' he allowed, taking his armchair. 'Do continue, Mr Melas, and try not to be boring' he said, offering the teen a ghastly grimace that was probably meant to be a smile.

'R-right' the teen stammered out, taking a moment to recompose himself. 'T-there's this series of _graphic novels_ that are centred around a group of superheros called KRATIDES-'

'Yes, yes, but skipping forward to the part where these comic books are coming true' Sherlock cut in.

'R-right' Melas fidgeted around and fished around in his pockets. After a few seconds of rummaging around, he took out a digital camera. 'It started a few weeks ago – the, the characters in these comics started coming to life – I have pictures on this camera' he continued, passing said camera to John for inspection. John deftly manoeuvred his way around the camera and checked the photographs before nodding at Sherlock to confirm the authenticity of the photographs. Unconsciously, the doctor-turned-consulting-detective leaned forward. This case seemed rather interesting.

'The- the KRATIDES members were enacting events from the graphic novels Mr Holmes' Chris persisted. 'I saw Sophy, the Wolflady, disposing of some unattended luggage in New Cross Station; The Flying Bludgeon tackling a mugger on Wandsworth Common; and Professor Davenport, the leader of KRATIDES, in Beckenham. I-I think I'm going out of my mind Mr Holmes' he said tearfully towards the end.

Sherlock shot a look at John. _You're a doctor, aren't you meant to, to, comfort him or something?_

'Well, there are three possibilities that I can think of' Holmes the younger said eventually after the teen had recomposed himself. 'One- this KRATIDES actually exists' he declared, seriously contemplating the notion. It didn't seem that far-fetched, really, when Melas had broken down he'd checked out KRATIDES on his phone and whilst they were 'heroes', they didn't seem to possess any superhuman powers, relying entirely on hand to hand combat and weapons. Yes, it was definitely possible….Watson didn't seem to share the same enthusiasm for this idea, though.

'Two – you're suffering from psychological delusions' John added. Admittedly, he thought that this entire case seemed rather ludicrous, but he couldn't ignore the evidence of his own eyes staring back at him from the camera's display. 'Or three, all this is being done for your benefit' he continued. 'Which is not very likely, since I can tell you're starting to lose it from here. But there's more, isn't there Mr Melas?' he continued to prod.

'Y-yes' Chris stammered out. 'I- someone contacted me on my website, a week ago. A man called Kemp. He- he told me that he believed in me, t-that I should-'

_Sherlock, shut up_, John flashed a scowl at his flatmate as he began to open his mouth, probably to shout at their client to get to the point.

'-spread the word about KRATIDES, that, that they existed and were real.'

'Do you know this man personally?' John questioned.

'No, his display picture is just a smiley face' Melas responded.

'I see….so what did you do after this Kemp got into contact with you?' the doctor continued prodding.

'Well, I've been spreading the word on social media – Twitter, Facebook, Google +,' Chris answered, 'as well as on my own website. B-but they keep harassing me and telling me I'm wrong….please Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, you have to help me!'. As he started pleading his voice began to escalate to near hysterical heights.

'It's OK, Chris, we're definitely going to get to the bottom of this' John assured. _Someone's playing a cruel joke on him aren't they?_ his face twitched at Sherlock.

_There's always the possibility that this superhero organisation does in fact exist, _Sherlock's raised eyebrow responded.

After repeated assurances from John that they would get to the bottom of the matter, Chris left for home – 'About time, I was barely able to stop myself from telling him to leave myself' commented Sherlock – while John busied himself by digging into sales figures of KRATIDES. As expected, sales of the graphic novel were going through the roof – people seemed to be rushing out to buy the comic to see if the events in them did seem to come true. Meanwhile, Chris Melas' grip on reality seemed to weaken as the days passed by and the ridicule from online traffic continued to escalate. 'Sherlock, I need to get in touch with one of your computer contacts' John called out. 'I have a sneaking suspicion as to what's going on, but first, I need a tech-wizard to find out for me who exactly Kemp _is_.'

John stared blankly at Sherlock's back after he silently texted the details of one of his contacts. _Did he really just text me when we're in the same room?_ He shook his head; _of course he did, he's Sherlock_.

'You're staring at me' Sherlock stated, back facing John. 'It occurs to me, Watson, that while you have been fairly open with me about your past, I have not been nearly so open. It is behaviour unbefitting between partners, and as such, in the spirit of cooperation, I am willing to share with you a little of my past.'

He let his mind drift back to how he had joined Scotland Yard, the memory sharp as if it had just occurred yesterday – one of the benefits he enjoyed from maintaining a mind palace. And then he began to speak.

* * *

*Flashback*

_Sherlock blearily stared up at the bland grey ceiling and started hiccupping uncontrollably. He had just been forced to put down Redbeard, his most faithful companion since he had arrived in Britain. He had raised him, nurtured him from the tiny puppy gifted to him by Mr and Mrs Holmes into a strong healthy dog – apart from Molly Hooper, and perhaps Mycroft, his only real close friend in the UK. Recently though, the dog had begun experiencing extreme behavioural changes, and even something that he supposed was the canine equivalent of a seizure. Naturally concerned, he had taken Redbeard to the vet, where he had heard the words that had shattered his heart for the second time. Brain tumour. Inoperable and in terminal stages._

_Since then, Sherlock had retreated inside himself, treating most people with a cold, clinical disdain, even pushing away Molly and Mycroft when they checked up on him. He heard a knock at the door. 'Sherlock, I know you're in there' Molly called out. 'I'm coming in now; I've brought you some food.'_

_Sherlock growled and wrapped himself up in his sheets again, determinedly facing away from the door. After a few moments, the lock _clicked_ and the door swung open; the stench of a body unwashed for several days, along with mouldy food and opened, half-filled beer bottles that pervaded the apartment rushed out and hit Molly with a vengeance. _

'_Oh, Sherlock' she sighed, holding her nose delicately as she opened the windows. 'You-', she paused, before leaning forward to take a closer glance at his bedside table – on it rested a small syringe, a sheet of paper with what appeared to be a half-finished note scrawled across it. Molly gasped and with an effort, flipped over Sherlock – bloodshot eyes, dilated, glazed over pupils, too-gaunt face- classic symptoms of drug use, she realised. She checked his arm- thin white perforations pockmarked his arm. _

_When Sherlock Holmes woke up, for a moment he thought he was gazing into deep silver pools, but then they vanished, and he saw only the faces of Mycroft Holmes and Molly Hooper, the two of them quietly standing in the kitchen, talking furiously and pointing at him. Molly, being the medical student that she was, noticed he was awake first and approached him with a relieved smile. She promptly slapped him in the face. Three times, to be precise. _

'_How dare you try to throw away the beautiful gift you were born with' she said in that too-calm-and-even voice that made Sherlock know that she was furious at him. 'And how dare you betray the love of your friends! Say you're sorry.'_

'_I'm sorry' he repeated dutifully, earning himself another meaty smack. 'I said I'm sorry, is that what you're supposed to do?'_

'_Stop it,' she whispered tearfully, 'just _stop_ it.' _

_The newly minted doctor turned to Mycroft. 'What- what can I do to help?'_

'_I'm going to send him into rehab' Mycroft replied, determinedly not looking at the man he had almost unconsciously adopted as his little brother. 'When he comes out, I would like you to monitor him as often as possible – I know that you'll be quite busy with your rotations, but there just isn't anybody else' he added regretfully. _

'_He's my best friend – of _course _I'll do it' Molly said firmly. _

_-Six months later-_

_Holmes looked around warily. After having been confined inside the quiet, placid, _sterile_ rehabilitation facility for six months, the outside world was a cacophony to his senses – all the sounds of vehicles honking their horns, driving, or simply idling – the bright splash of colours of said vehicles – the scents of all those people commuting about, food, smoke from vehicle exhausts – _

_Holmes wrenched his mind away from that path and firmly grounded it back into the here and now. _If you start using again, you could drown those sounds out_, a soft, seductive voice in the back of his mind whispered. _You could drown everything out. Go on Sherlock. One more push into sweet oblivion…

'_Sherlock?' a timid voice broke into his thoughts – Molly's, he realised. She looked…well – still wearing one of those baggy jumpers she had always favoured, he noticed. _

'_Molly' he nodded stiffly. His composure was broken when she threw herself into his arms and hugged him firmly. _

'_This is the part where you hug me back' she mumbled into his chest, pale cheeks burning with embarrassment. Tentatively, he wrapped his own arms around here. 'I missed you' she breathed out. _

'_And I you' he admitted. Shuffling his feet awkwardly at the overt display of sentiment, he decided to change the topic at once. 'I'm hungry, let's go eat in that pub' he told her, already striding away. _

'_S-Sherlock wait up!' she called out. _

_As the two of them finished clearing their plates and turned their attention to the TV, which was displaying a live football game, a pair of policemen, male and female, walked in and arrested a man watching the telly – a Mr Angelo, from what Sherlock could hear. As the male- a Detective Inspector, judging from his ID, began handcuffing Angelo, the other woman with frizzy hair slid over next to him. 'Hey there, handsome' she smiled and gave him what he supposed was meant to be an alluring look. _

'_Not interested, go away' he told her without so much as a sidelong glance. _

_Molly stifled a chuckle as the woman sniffed and said 'Well I never!'_

_Holmes turned in his seat as the detective inspector's boisterous voice rose above the clamour of chanting football fans. 'Donovan! Stop flirting with the civilian and help me escort this man to the station!'_

_Sherlock glanced at Mr Angelo, taking a few moments to deduce him, and did a double take. _He's not _guilty, he realised. Suddenly full of energy, Sherlock shot up from his seat and ran over to the man. 'Detective Inspector! You're making a mistake, this man simply isn't guilty,' he called out. _

'_Who the hell are you?' the detective inspector replied. 'What do you think you're-'_

'_My name is Sherlock Holmes. No, what's your problem Detective Inspector' he shouted back. 'Mr Angelo simply can't be guilty of those murders because at the time of those murders, he was on the other side of London stealing a car!'_

_After a ten minute rant on precisely why Angelo couldn't have committed the murder, the DI dropped the murder charges and slapped him with one for robbery instead. Impressed by the mysterious man's deductive skills, he had asked him to be a consultant with Scotland Yard right then and there. Sherlock would later discover that DI's name to be a G. Lestrade. _

_*End flashback*_

* * *

John looked at his companion and was surprised to see his flatmate, mentor, _friend_'s eyes were overbright, determinedly looking away from him. 'I'm sorry for your loss' he said eventually. 'I'm glad you feel that you can trust me with something like that though.'

Sherlock completely ignored him and started to tap away at his phone's screen again. As a comfortable silence fell, John's phone buzzed.

**Kemp is a man called Harold Latimer; Latimer works for the publishers of KRATIDES. **

John relayed this information to Holmes out loud and waited for his response. Their thoughts were running along the same paths: _if Kemp is working for the publishers of KRATIDES, then it goes without saying that they're exploiting the boy for free publicity, leading to more sales in the hopes that they'll see the events come true themselves! _

'Well, they didn't technically do anything illegal, right?' John spoke as he realised Sherlock was patiently waiting for his take on the problem. 'Or rather, we can't prove that they're behind inflicting a mental health breakdown on a teenager given that we ourselves used a rather illegal method to prove it…so we need to catch the perpetrators in the act.'

'As ever John, you cut straight to the heart of the matter' his mentor smiled – a genuine smile, not one of those ghastly, superficial grimaces. 'We'll have to tell Mr Melas the truth, of course, then we're going to need to follow him around until another costumed crusader arrives. Then as they're making their way from the scene, we'll approach them. Sounds a bit dull.'

'Sherlock, these people are trying to make profits off the suffering of a teenager, you _could_ have a little more sympathy for our client you know' John sighed.

'Whatever for?' Sherlock argued. 'Will caring about him solve the case?'

'Well, no.'

'Then I'll continue _not_ to make that mistake.'

'And you find that easy, do you?'

'Yes, very. Is that news to you?' Sherlock shot back, before noticing his friend's face. 'I've … disappointed you' he said in realisation.

'Brilliant deduction there old boy' John replied.

* * *

-Three days later-

After three days of following Chris Melas around, Sherlock was more bored than ever. Arguing that since John was so invested in the case, he should take on all of the stakeout shifts, Sherlock had promptly then busied himself by typing away on his phone and ignoring his partner in general. 'Sherlock' John called out. 'We have a costumed crusader here, time to go.'

'Yes, let's go' Holmes replied, slipping his phone neatly inside his coat. As the pair started discreetly trailing the 'superhero', Sherlock glanced at John as his hand dipped inside his own coat pocket – no doubt reaching for his extendable baton. John had taken rather quickly to the baton – perhaps a little _too_ quickly, Holmes thought – it was as if he had already had some rudimentary experience with a similar weapon – he took to it far too quickly not to have. Shaking away the idle thought, Sherlock glanced around, taking in what had happened in the few minutes since he had first descended into his ruminations; after his appearance, Latimer had managed to run away and exchange his costume for simple casual clothes, before attempting to meld away in the streets of London. _Absolutely ridiculous_, he scoffed to himself, _how can he not notice that part of his costume – his flaring, neon orange costume, is poking out of his bag? Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

As Sherlock rounded the corner, intending to confront Latimer at last – _isolated street, very little incoming traffic_, his mind noted – something cracked over his head, and Sherlock Holmes fell into oblivion.

* * *

John screamed as he saw Sherlock – sarcastic, cold, clinical, Sherlock fall to the ground, bludgeoned by the very man they were trailing, Harold Latimer. 'Did you really think that I wouldn't notice myself being trailed?' he snarled out, swinging his bludgeon around in a wide arc at Sherlock's torso; it connected with a meaty smack. 'It's nothing personal, but you two know too much' he said almost sadly as he drew his arm back again – this time aiming for Sherlock's head.

'NO!' John bellowed out. When Sherlock later asked him about what he did next, he could never explain how he managed it. Nor, he felt, could he have replicated the feat. The doctor acted on pure instinct, in an unbelievably sublime union between mind and body. John threw himself forward, moving faster than he had ever gone before – not even when he was being shot at in Afghanistan had he moved so quickly. As Latimer's baton fell towards Sherlock's head, John's own baton swung out and _shattered _it. As Latimer howled from the shock that reverberated through his entire body, John swung at him again, knocking him out cold. Sparing a brief moment to apply hand and leg cuffs to their attacker, John knelt beside his flatmate and gently cradled his head to examine the damage.

'Oh god, Sherlock' he whispered as he saw an ugly purple blotch spreading across his companion's face. He reached within himself and tapped inside the power that had been with him since his conception, the power that had been bestowed upon him by divine authority, his birthright. For the few moments that he drew on this power, his thoughts settled into a preternatural clarity as he studied his friend's head. _Concussion, no brain damage or internal bleeding it seems….Sherlock got lucky, _he thought to himself. He took out the first aid kit Holmes had insisted he carry and quickly dressed the wound. John glared down at Latimer and called the police.

* * *

-221B Baker St-

'Right, thanks Greg' he spoke into his phone. 'Yes, I'll let you know when Sherlock wakes up, ASAP.'

In the few hours that had passed since the attack on Sherlock, he had managed to get Latimer arrested and thrown into jail; with his baton having Sherlock's blood on it as well as an eyewitness account from a passer-by, it was a fairly clear-cut case, Greg had assured him. He had then simply taken Sherlock home, where he cleaned and dressed the wound properly. Now all he had to do was wait for Sherlock to awaken. He hoped that it didn't take too long – the way that he was moving about, it was likely that he'd hurt himself if he was unconscious like this for much longer.

* * *

-Sherlock's dream-

_Percy gasped and was forced to his knees as Gaea's presence in the world continued to increase. _She_ was laughing at him. 'How does it _feel_ Jackson? How does it feel to watch everything you worked for die, right in front of your eyes, knowing that you couldn't stop it?'. As Chase continued to giggle, she fell onto her knees and began retching._

_Percy could barely keep from retching himself as he _felt_ the power emanating from Gaea's avatar continue spiking, judging from the whirlwind around her, before her presence suddenly disappeared. _Did her revival…fail?_, he wondered to himself, before dismissing the notion. _Rarely is the universe so kind_. The swirling maelstrom of dust and dirt that surrounded her for the past few minutes abruptly began to die down and settle, revealing Gaea's form to the world for the first time in over three millennia. She was beautiful, Percy supposed, with smooth tanned skin and black hair eerily similar to his own. But her eyes…her eyes were what really captured him; deep, black pits shot through with shades of green like the earth, cold and distant, as if to match that otherworldly, beatific smile. Gazing upon her face, he sensed that she could watch the world's destruction and that smile would not waver one iota. _Probably because the world IS ending right now_, his mind supplied him helpfully. _

'_This place…this earth is my precious nursery' Gaea's voice rang out over Olympus. 'I cannot allow you Olympians to tarnish its sanctity anymore…Let us end this battle. For the crime of killing my children, I shall erase you all from existence right now, starting with you, Perseus Jackson' she declared. As she waved her hand, the earth itself began to rumble, until finally a black blade shot out of the ground, gleaming like obsidian. She tilted her head to the side, enigmatic smile growing across her face until finally she let out a laugh as she saw Percy slowly rising back to his feet. 'You've exceeded my every expectation, Perseus Jackson' she praised. 'Good. Ours is a battle that should be ended face to face.'_

'_I _will_ stop you' he promised. _

'_Don't use such strong words, it only makes your weakness more apparent' she replied cordially. 'Now then. Time to die.'_

_Percy felt a preternatural calm settle over him, his mind clearer than it had ever been before. _To storm or fire, the world must fall_, his mind whispered to him. _You must not fail. _Percy Jackson, Son of Poseidon, did what was probably the most stupid thing in his entire life. Alone, without backup, he charged Gaea. _

_As the two of them danced and interlocked blades, the calm in the storm that was usually Percy's mind deepened, his focus sharpening as they moved ever faster, their bodies gracefully floating through the air as they slashed and stabbed at each other. He grinned fiercely as he smashed Riptide into her blade and knocked it away, before lunging forward to stab at her body. _

I feel…so alive…what's going on?, _he wondered to himself. _Everything's so…so clear…so different….ah, I see…I've finally awoken my true power…

_As she twisted away, there was a momentary lull, as both combatants took the chance to reassess their opponent. 'Gaea…,' Percy whispered, 'you have my eternal thanks…for finally opening my eyes….'. He started laughing hysterically, 'This is…this is FIGHTING!'. As he spoke, subconsciously, he began forming a hurricane around himself, buffeting the primordial in front of him relentlessly, knocking her backwards with his sheer presence. _Oh dear gods, I'm an adrenaline junkie_, he thought to himself wryly as he launched himself forward at the primordial goddess once more. And then,_ oh dear, I'm turning into Ares._ He shuddered – mentally, of course._

_Percy blinked in confusion – was Gaea getting slower? How could she be tiring already, while he was continuing to accelerate in speed, felt better than he ever had? _She's still weak, unused to having an actual form_, he realised. _This must end now. But even in this weakened state, she's good – too good for me to wear down and defeat in time. I see…

_Percy steeled himself and tackled Gaea in a kamikaze style charge, before stabbing her in the head with Riptide. In turn, she pushed her obsidian blade through Percy's torso, heedless of the golden ichor that poured from her rapidly regenerating head. 'Fool!' she mocked, even as her head restored itself. 'I am the Earth itself! I am Gaea! I am eternal! I am…'_

'_You're _dead_' Percy hissed out, before he drew deep inside himself and _pulled_. Gaea's mocking laughter abruptly ceased and her tanned features began to pale as ichor exploded out of her head in great gushing jets._

'_W-what did you _do_?' she gasped out. _

'_Goodbye, Gaea' he said in response, holding a hand to his bleeding chest to stem the blood flowing out. As he focused, the gushing fountain rapidly reduced to a slow ebb._

'_You- you ripped the ichor out of me' she said in wonder. 'My ichor…my essence!'_

_As Gaea's avatar crumbled into black, freshly tilled soil, Percy turned his attention to Chase. She was studying him curiously, with perhaps a tint of fear. Wisely, she decided that it was best for her to make her escape _now_, whilst the gods were incapacitated and he was weakened. _

'_We shall meet again, my dearest Seaweed Brain' she promised. _

* * *

-221B Baker St-

John looked sharply at Sherlock as he continued tossing and turning, mumbling something into the depths of his pillow. He leaned in closer, curious as to see what the man he had come to regard as a friend was saying. 'Gaea…storm or fire….world must fall' the man muttered. John felt his eyes widening and jaw dropping, as a single thought raced through his mind. _Sherlock…is a demigod? _Deciding that he needed to get his answers immediately, he gently shook Sherlock awake.

'How long?' Sherlock asked, wincing as his head moved slightly and a dull roar filled his ears. For a moment, just like every other time he woke up since leaving ten years ago, he saw deep silver pools glaring down at him – betrayed, angry, _accusing_. Then he blinked and those phantom eyes were gone. 'I feel like I've been hit with a sledgehammer.'

'Baton, actually' John informed him. He got up and went for the kitchen, calling over his shoulder 'I'll fix you something and get you some aspirin.'

* * *

As Sherlock sighed in satisfaction and pushed away his tray, John decided to make his move. 'You're a demigod, aren't you?' he challenged.

'Yes' his friend confessed. 'And, so are you.'

Said friend steepled his fingers and looked at him measuringly before coming to a decision. 'Since you're going to nag at me until I tell you, and in light of my resolve for a renewed spirit of collaboration between us, I might as well tell you a bit about myself to get it out of the way' he sighed. 'My real name is Perseus…'

**Author's note: Hello everyone, ApocalypticPhoenix here with another instalment of The Rise of the Consultant Hero :). So Percy's secret is now blown...I wonder what happens next between these two partners? I'd just like to thank you all for your unwavering support and suggestions, they have been rather inspiring in their own right and quite invaluable. Some things for all you readers: **

**1\. What god should John be descended from? Should he be a legacy or a demigod? I will be taking on board any suggestions (within reason, so not Artemis/Hera/Hestia, for example). Should he be a Greek or Roman demigod?**

**2\. Do you think I'm doing the original two series justice?**

**3\. I'm still accepting suggestions for other cases, EXcluding**** the following: A Study in Scarlet, The Final Problem, The Empty House, The Sign of Four, The Hounds of the Baskervilles, A Scandal in Bohemia, The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton. I only have space for two or three cases now so pick wisely!**

**4\. As always, constructive critique is appreciated.**

**Response to reviews:**

**Guest: I hope that this chapter proves a little more enlightening as to why Percy is a colder and more reserved than he used to be. **

**Guest: Perhaps Annabeth is Moriarty, perhaps not :). And yes, I am in fact intending to involve the demigods into Percy/Sherlock's cases soon enough- quite soon in fact. Thanks for your recommendation, I will read The Adventure of the Speckled Band and see if it's suitable for my purposes.**

**The forbidden Olympian: If I may, I suggest taking a quick glance back at chapter 3, more specifically, Sherlock's conversation with the cabbie regarding his sponsor :).**

**Stetsonbennett: I'm not sure about women 'fawning' over Percy, but Artemis will be the only one for him. I don't intend to bring Artemis (and the Greek mythological world in general) back for at least 3 or so chapters, but I'll be sure to make it worth the wait :). **


	5. More Than Just A Game

Disclaimer: Same as chapter 1

* * *

Chapter 5: More Than Just A Game

-221B Baker St-

Since telling John most of the truth about himself, John and Percy's relationship had improved drastically now that there were (almost) no secrets between them. Since John had started working as a locum at a local medical centre, Percy was left languishing away in Baker St. To relieve his boredom, Percy had sprayed a yellow smiley face onto the living room wall and was now taking potshots at it from his armchair, having 'borrowed' John's handgun. As he emptied a clip of bullets into the wall, John stormed in, furious at the sudden clamour that had filled 221B. 'What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?' John roared out. Percy glanced at John, then made a show of looking at his gun, and the wall, before quirking his eyebrow at his partner, _Really?_ _Must not punch him, must not punch him_, John repeated to himself insistently like a mantra. 'I mean, _why_ are you shooting holes into the wall' he said tightly once he was sure he wouldn't attack the petulant man-child in front of him.

'Bored.'

John could do nothing but stare at him in disbelief – before, Sherlock had simply turned to experimenting or writing more of his little-known monographs – he had never done something so extreme as this. 'W-what?' he stammered out eventually.

'Bored!' Percy declared, right before he jumped to his feet and started shooting at the wall again. 'Bored! Bored!'

John hurried over and snagged his handgun back from his friend before he could do any more damage to their flat. 'You're bored, so you take it out on the wall?' John ground out in disbelief, fists shaking in anger as he – just barely – held himself from clobbering the man.

'The wall had it coming!' Percy snapped back, throwing himself onto the sofa to sulk. John shook his head and paced over to the fridge. 'Is there any-' John stopped and closed the fridge door, before checking the fridge contents again to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. He turned to Percy deliberately. 'A head, Sherlock! A bloody head!'

'Just tea for me, thanks' his friend replied absent-mindedly as he continued stewing.

'No, there's a bloody head in the fridge!'

'Brilliant deduction there old boy.'

'A head!'

'Well, where else was I supposed to put it?' Percy sighed, rolling over to face the ceiling. 'I got it from Molly to measure the coagulation of saliva after death' he added before turning his gaze onto John. 'I saw that you wrote up the taxi driver case – A Study in Pink.'

'Well, yes. Did you like it?'

'Erm, _no_' Percy said decisively, snapping open a science journal – _Nature_ \- that for some reason he had kept for over ten years.

'Why not? I thought you'd be flattered…'

Percy sighed and started reciting verbatim from John's blog, ' "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things" .'

'I didn't mean that in a- ' John started.

'Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a _nice_ way!' Percy exclaimed. 'Look, I don't bother myself with trivia, it doesn't matter to me who's the prime minister, or who's sleeping with who-'

'Or whether the earth goes around the sun' John interjected.

Percy sighed and rolled over to look at John directly. 'Oh, you're _still_ on about that? It's not _important_. So we go around the sun! If we went round the moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference!' he shouted at John, before descending back into a pensive mood as he thought about the moon, or rather, the deity of the moon. He had always regretted leaving her like that, but he knew that she wouldn't have let him move.

'It's _primary school _stuff' John spluttered out. Percy just sighed and focused his attention onto his science journal, completely ignoring his flatmate for the next few minutes as he scanned the pages in front of him. John was just starting to relax again when Percy stalked over to the window and started glaring out at Baker St. 'Look at it John' he demanded. 'Quiet, calm, peaceful, dull, boring, predictable. Isn't it _hateful_?'

'Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up Sherlock. A nice little murder – that'll cheer you up' Mrs Hudson encouraged as she walked into the room. She pursed her lips as she saw the damage to the walls. 'I'm going to add the repairs for that to your rent!' she called out as she left the room. Percy continued sulking and faced the ceiling again. He remained like this for the rest of the night and early morning, even after John left to work at a local medical centre. Eventually, he moved over to where his laptop was and started teaching himself the basics of Spanish. When his phone vibrated to signal a text from Mycroft, therefore, he was rather pleased.

**I have a case; will come to Baker St; of national importance- MH**

Percy quickly fired back a text of his own to John;

**Mycroft has a case for us, meet at Baker St; apparently of national importance- SH**

* * *

-221B Baker St-

After receiving Percy's text, John had pounded back to Baker St as fast as he could. As he burst into the living room of 221B, he caught sight of Sherlock – _Percy_, he reminded himself – lounging in his armchair and absent-mindedly playing the violin, whilst Mycroft was lazily spinning his umbrella around in another armchair.

'I can't, I'm afraid, far too busy right now' Percy said regretfully. 'I can't spare the time.'

John looked on at Percy blankly in disbelief, whilst Mycroft merely sighed in exasperation, 'Never mind your usual cases, this is of national importance, Sherlock.'

'I told him the truth about me' Percy commented idly as he launched into a brief rendition of the opening chords of Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_. 'You can call me by my real name in his presence now.'

'As you wish, Perseus' Mycroft replied before turning to John. 'Perhaps _you_ can get through to him, John. I'm afraid that my brother is being rather obstinate today. What's he like to live with these days, hellish I imagine?'

'Well, I'm never bored' John said diplomatically.

'If you're so keen, do it yourself' Percy replied, absent-mindedly plucking some violin strings.

The elder Holmes sighed and turned his focus back to John, passing him a small folder. 'Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends' he said, gesturing at the file. 'He was a civil servant, found dead today on the tracks at Battersea Station with his head smashed in. Before his death, he was in possession of a memory stick containing M.O.D. plans – the Bruce-Partington Plans, they are called.'

'Not very clever' John snipped. 'And you want us to find the missing USB and determine if any copies were made?'

'Yes, we can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands' Mycroft agreed. 'Goodbye John' he said, briefly shaking the doctor's hand. 'See you again soon.'

After the elder Holmes had left the building, John quirked an eyebrow at Percy asking, _Now what was that all about?_ Percy shrugged and looked at him directly. 'I'm delegating, putting my best man on it!' he declared. 'Simple recovery mission, sounds just a tad dull, so it'll be perfect for you'. As John crossed his arms in an unimpressed fashion, Percy further clarified, 'You need more solo experience, I'm delegating this to you, we both win. If you need my advice, use your phone. Now go away.'

John sighed and walked out of the living room, already thumbing through Mycroft's file.

* * *

-Battersea Station-

John strolled down the railway tracks, accompanied by a Tube guard, eyes darting about to soak in every last detail, no matter how seemingly insignificant or bizarre. He paused for a moment, tongue slightly protruding out of his mouth as he consulted Mycroft's file once more and adopted a thinking pose – as much as one could whilst standing upright, in any case. _According to the MI-6 agents that took his body and searched it, he had no money on him at all, but there were absolutely no signs of a mugging gone wrong…theatre tickets…according to his fiancée, they were outside the theatre and everything seemed fine before he suddenly dashed off for 'something very important'…. _John bent over and peered closely at the tracks where West had been found. _Barely any blood…_ he frowned to himself. He turned to the guard and asked, 'Did your people start cleaning the lines?'

'No, we were ordered not to. Is something wrong?' the guard replied, puzzled.

'Yes' John told him and turned his gaze back to the railway tracks, ignoring the man's confusion. _Barely any blood on the tracks, that's puzzling given how hard his head was smashed in_, he mused, checking his file on West once more. _There should definitely be a lot more blood, but there's barely any here on the tracks…he must have been killed elsewhere, and then transported here, then_. _The question now becomes, who killed him, and why? _John stepped away from the tracks absent-mindedly as a train thundered down the track towards him; the points screeched as they shifted to a new route. He blinked. _Points_. _Could it be…_, he wondered to himself. He studied the rooftop of the carriage – shaking violently, he imagined that anything on the rooftop would be easily dislodged, especially considering the high velocity that the train was travelling at…_yes, it makes sense that he was killed elsewhere, then dumped onto a train…a body of his size isn't easy to lug around without drawing suspicion quickly, so we'd be looking at somewhere close to a train station…_

His eyes flittered over the railway again, and he nodded sharply. His theory formed, he walked back to the station.

* * *

-Andrew West's flat-

John gently held the crying woman's – _her name is Lucy_, his mind helpfully supplied – hand. 'He - he just wouldn't have' she whimpered. 'He's – Westie isn't a traitor! That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?'

The doctor found himself nodding reluctantly. 'He was a young man, about to get married, he had debts…' he started.

'_Everyone_'s got debts,' Lucy interrupted, 'and he wouldn't clear them by selling out his country; and he just received a promotion at work – t-there would be no reason for him to sell those secrets!'

'I-I see' John replied after a few seconds of silence. 'Well, um, could you please tell me what happened that night then?' he pleaded. 'I'd just like, to, um, hear it from your own mouth' he added. 'Though if it's too painful-'

'No, it's- it's OK' she smiled at him wanly through the tears. 'If it means clearing Westie's name, I-I'll do it' she said haltingly, and paused to collect her thoughts. 'I- we were meeting outside the theatre that night. He seemed perfectly normal – a-acted fine and everything, but when we were about to go into the theatre, h-he dashed off and said that there was something very important he had to attend to…that- that's all.'

_She's not lying_, John mused, _unless she happens to be a method actor_, having subtly taken her pulse as she was saying this. 'I see, thank you very much Lucy, I will contact you if I require further information' he said formally. 'Just one more thing – you have a brother, correct? Joe is his name, if I'm not mistaken? I was wondering if you could tell me where he lives? It's, ah, standard operating procedure' he said, injecting a trace of regret into his voice. _If I remember correctly, her brother is a known petty drug dealer who is heavily in debt; it's not too much of a leap to assume that he might have stolen the USB to try and sell it for cash…_

Half an hour later and John was patiently waiting outside Joe Harrison's apartment. It fit the criteria – right on top of a railway track. He took the chance to peer down at the landing using his magnifier – tiny splashes of blood dotted the stairs. He smirked. _Just as I thought_. And then, _thank you, Percy_.

When Joe Harrison walked into his apartment, he immediately found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. 'Give me the USB stick' John said simply.

* * *

-221B Baker St-

Percy glanced down at his phone as it started ringing – a call from Mycroft, apparently. He picked up and put it on loudspeaker.

'Sherlock!' Mycroft barked out. 'Is Dr Watson with you?'

'No, unless he snuck in whilst I was in my mind palace' Percy replied, already reaching out to sense John's aura – Mycroft seemed to be almost…_panicking_. _Afraid_, even. 'He's not in the flat, why?' he said after a moment's pause.

'It's been several hours since he handed in the USB stick to me and went back to work; by this time, he should be home by now…it looks like John's been…abducted' Mycroft eventually said.

'What?' Percy growled out, a slow, simmering rage starting to rear its head inside him. 'Give me everything you know so far' he demanded.

'I'll send it over to you now' Mycroft told him.

After he hung up on his elder sibling, Percy's phone immediately buzzed with another text, this time from a private number. His face darkened as he inspected the contents – an image of John tied up in a darkened room – too dark to make out any of the fine details he'd need to deduce where John was being kept. He focused on John's face – an ugly bruise was stretching along his jawline and cheek, but apart from that, he seemed fine – physically, at least. His eyes narrowed as he saw the large vest John was wearing – _he doesn't own something like that_, his mind helpfully supplied. As his fingers danced to forward the text to Mycroft and his lackeys, his phone suddenly began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID – just the letter M. _Moriarty?, _he wondered.

'Sherlock Holmes' he spoke at the phone.

'Thank you, well aware. My name is Moriarty' a voice replied smoothly. Percy didn't bother analysing it 'I believe we're overdue for a chat.'

'If you're really Moriarty, then yes, well overdue.'

'I'm sure you've been made aware by now of one John Watson's abduction' the voice continued, undeterred by his interruption. 'I would like to inform you that it was I that was behind that abduction.'

'Why did you do it, and what is your interest in me?'

'You want answers. I don't blame you. But first, I require something of you, Mr Holmes' the voice answered. 'I'd like to secure your services as a consulting detective. My payment – John Watson's freedom. And as a little extra incentive…well, why don't you go to 221C Baker St. You'll be hearing from me very soon…Sherlock Holmes.' the voice finished, and hung up.

Percy scowled to himself and pounded down the stairs to the basement flat that was 221C. _Door locked_, he realised. _Mrs Hudson's away for the weekend, so…_Percy studied the door and started to pick the lock. Gently pushing the door open, one thing stood out to him immediately – a pair of trainers placed neatly in the middle of the door. His phone started trilling gently again, and he picked up, only to be taken aback as a completely different voice to before – a woman's – started speaking, 'H-hello ... sexy.'

'Who's this?' Percy demanded.

'I've sent you…a little puzzle…to celebrate our new relationship.'

'Who is this?,' he repeated, 'And why are you crying?'

'I-I'm not...crying...I'm typing...and this...stupid...bitch...is reading it out.'

Despite the danger than John was in, Percy couldn't help but feel his heart starting to race in anticipation, his system flooding himself with adrenaline at the prospect of this new challenge. 'You've taken hostages other than John?' he stalled.

'Consider their lives a little extra incentive. Twelve hours to solve...my puzzle, Sherlock... or I'm going...to be...so naughty.'

* * *

-St Bart's Hospital laboratory-

Percy snapped on his gloves and started examining the trainers as fast as he could – _fairly good condition, but the soles are well-worn, owner must have had them for quite a while, length about twenty five centimetres, so probably a man's, but traces of ink inside – a name, perhaps? But no self respecting adult would write their name inside their shoes, so these must have belonged to a child…these shoes, even though they look brand new, they bear a distinct 80's look, they must have loved these shoes as well_ – _scrubbed them till they were in pristine condition again, very clear traces of whitening them where they got discoloured…mud on the soles, I'll need to analyse that_.Percy took out a scalpel and scraped off a thin sliver of mud from the soles, delicately sliding it onto a glass Petri dish. Immediately, he dashed over to the nearest microscope, scrutinising every last detail of his sample. _This mud…I recognise it, it's Sussex soil…but in the outer layer, there's traces of London soil as well…so the owner is a child from Sussex that went to London and left them behind. Why? He loved these trainers, he wouldn't have left them behind… _

As Percy continued his train of thought, the door to the lab swung open; Molly came in, a man sheepishly trailing her – _just a little shorter than me, so, height somewhere around one hundred and seventy….five centimetres…underwear very visible above the waistline, tinted eyelashes, taurine cream…_

'Gay' he muttered just as the man said 'Hey!' brightly.

'S-sorry?' Molly asked him in surprise, and no small anger.

'Nothing, um…hey' he deflected awkwardly.

'This is Jim, he works in IT upstairs' Molly said after a moment. 'That's how we met; office romance' she giggled along with the man. _Right, great, I'm sure, now just leave me _alone, his mind whispered.

'Sorry! I am so, so sorry' Jim-from-IT apologised as he knocked over a metal dish. He put the dish back onto the table and shuffled his feet as he became the object of Percy's stare. 'Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, 'bout six-ish?' he asked Molly, now clearly a little unnerved by the consulting detective's unfaltering gaze.

'Yeah!' Molly said brightly. As Jim-from-IT closed the door behind him, she turned to Percy furiously. 'What do you mean, gay? We're together!' she protested. 'He's _not_ gay. Why do you have to spoil ...? He's _not_' she insisted again. In response, Percy simply lifted the dish Jim had just replaced and showed her the slip of paper underneath; on it, was, presumably, the man's number.

'Break it off now and save yourself the pain' he advised darkly, eyes flaring as he thought about Chase. Molly stared at him for a moment, tears pooling in her eyes, before she turned and ran out of the room.

_Charming, old boy. Really well done. You couldn't have been more of an ass if you _tried, John's voice whispered in his mind. _Well, at least she's going to break it off_, _it's kinder for her to find out now_ he consoled himself. _Kind? Percy, _that_ wasn't kind _mind-John reprimanded him. He scowled to himself again – time enough to have a mental conversation with himself later, he had to save John NOW! Then he blinked, and let out a drawn-out sigh. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, I should have thought of that first_ he admonished himself, and reached out with his mind for John, seeking out his companion, his friend. Percy started spinning around slowly, trying to get a better sense of where John was; he frowned as he realised that he couldn't seem to narrow down his range – he could tell that John was in London somewhere, but that was to be expected. Trying to sense his divine aura yielded the same results. _At least this confirms that this Moriarty has links with the mythological world_ he told himself.

Percy frowned as he looked at the trainers again, gleaming at him infuriatingly. Unbidden, his mind drifted to the first cold case he had taken consulting with Scotland Yard – the death of Carl Powers. _Carl Powers – died from having a sudden fit in the water, shoes missing from locker_ he recalled. _Shoes…shoes….SHOES! I need to examine this under a microscope_, he realised.

* * *

-A few hours later-

He combed the scans of the trainers painstakingly, eyes roving back and forth frantically in a race against time – he had already wasted eight hours, and he imagined that John wasn't pleased right now. There! Botolinum toxin, he realised. Now that was something one didn't see every day. _Case solved, now how should I contact Moriarty? The cabbie said that he was a fan of mine…so it goes without saying that he would look at my website!_ Pleased at his deduction, Percy rapidly posted onto his website: 'Botolinum toxin on trainers of Carl Powers.'

His phone rang again; as he picked up, a new voice came out of the speakers – this time, that of an elderly woman's. 'Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers' she croaked out. 'I never liked him. He laughed at me, so I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.'

Percy ground his teeth as he recognised the same, shaking tones as that of the first speaker. _Another hostage, another innocent dragged into this mess_. 'What did you do to the other one?' he asked in seeming disinterest. 'You've stolen another voice, I see.'

'I let them go. There's no need for others to be caught up in this. This is about you and me…Sherlock. You solved my last puzzle in about nine hours. Let's see if you can beat that record.'

'Why are you doing all this? Sponsoring the cabbie, kidnapping John Watson, what's all of this _for_?'

'Why does anyone do anything? Because I'm bored. We were _made_ for each other, Sherlock. But to tell the truth…I like…to watch you…dance.'

The call disconnected. Percy's phone lit up as it received yet another text; this time, a blonde woman lying on what he recognised as a morgue slab, with red speckles all over her body. _Measles? No, measles rash is very distinctive, much more prominent, these speckles are much fainter and there are far less of them…_ Percy flicked to his contacts and dialled Molly.

* * *

-St Bart's Morgue-

Percy peered down at the blonde woman, eyes raking her body for details. 'What can you tell me?' he asked Molly.

'Her name is Julia Stoner, she was found yesterday by her sister at their home; she was found drowned in the bathtub' Molly stiffly read out from her report. 'Toxicology report says that there was lots of alcohol in her system; cause of death most likely was passing out whilst in the bathtub due to intoxication.'

Percy hmmmed as he leaned over and inspected the body closely. There it was! On her left foot, two tiny perforations – snakebite? He grabbed his phone and starting searching – _no reports of any escaped snakes from zoos, so therefore, must be either a wild snake or one kept by a private individual….upon searching the premises, police found that the door was locked, the family said that they didn't keep a snake as a pet, so, someone must have murdered her – it's just impossible for a snake to enter a locked bedroom and leave of its own accord…I need to inspect the scene and question the family myself._

* * *

-Julia Stoner's house-

Percy scowled again as he glared at the room. It was infuriating, there were absolutely no clues whatsoever as to how the snake had gotten in. He turned back to the tearful sister – Helen, if he recalled correctly – and gently took her hand, inwardly grimacing as she continued to burst into tears. _For John,_ he reminded himself. 'So, Ms Stoner, could you tell me what Julia was like before she died?' he asked, modulating his voice to be soft yet gently pressing, the same tones that John adopted during their shared cases.

'S-she was feeling a bit tired over the last week, b-but I figured that she was just stressed out from the wedding plans – she, she was engaged and they were planning to marry early next month' Helen sobbed. Percy perked up. _Fiancée? _That was the first time he had heard of the victim having a fiancée.

'Sorry, I was wondering, does her fiancée happen to keep snakes?' he continued after she had composed herself.

'Y-yes, why?'

'It's just…well, there were snakebite marks on your sister's body' Percy said gently. 'I'm afraid that there may be a possibility that one of his snakes bit her.'

'T-that's impossible' she sniffed out. 'H-he loved her, a-and besides, he has an alibi, i-it's been verified by the police already.'

'And how would you know that?' Percy asked sharply.

'B-because I'm his alibi' Helen sniffed and looked at him directly in the eyes. 'I-I was giving him the third degree' she said sheepishly. 'W-we met at a club, the police already examined the video footage there – they'll confirm this.'

Percy blinked rapidly as he took the information in – _Scotland Yard isn't incompetent enough to bungle the validation of an alibi, so for now at least, I'll have to accept this as true…she doesn't look like she's lying…- _'Is there any way that she could have come into contact with his snakes?' he inquired.

'W-well, he keeps them at his home, so i-it's possible that s-she might have been bitten whilst she was over at his flat…b-but she hated snakes, wouldn't go anywhere near them!'

'I see…you've been very helpful Ms Stoner; just one more thing, if you wouldn't mind – could I check her room one last time?'

'G-go ahead' she stammered out, a little confused.

Percy nodded and strode into the adjoining bathroom. _On the night she died, she had been drinking – clear traces of alcohol in her system from the autopsy report….she was found in her bathtub, enjoying a…bubble bath?_ Percy peered closely at the bubble bath bottle – Roylotts brand, apparently. He frowned – he'd seen Mrs Hudson using other Roylotts products before – some cosmetics thing or other, she was a big fan of the brand as he recalled – he'd bought her some of the products for her birthday just last week and she had loved it. He hadn't recalled seeing a bubble bath bottle though…and looking around the bathroom now, the deceased Ms Stoner seemed to not have been a fan of Roylotts, or cosmetics products in general. Curious and curiouser.

'I'm sorry, is this a new product?' he asked Helen. 'I, um, my girlfriend is a big fan of Roylotts' he lied fluently.

'Y-yeah, it's not released in stores yet, b-but my stepfather, he's, well, he's the CEO of Roylotts. He gave me one too' Helen shrugged, eyes still a little red-rimmed from her crying – _but at least she's stopped that incessant crying_. Percy glanced around the bedroom again, paying attention especially to the photographs – in every one of them, the two sisters seemed to be positioned away from a tall, imposing man – their stepfather, probably. _So, obviously not close, from the tension in their stances, it's clear that their relationship is a bit troubled – now why on earth would he suddenly give them a gift – out of the benevolence of his heart? Not likely…_

'Thank you very much, Ms Stoner, you've been very helpful' he informed her, surreptitiously pocketing the mysterious bottle.

* * *

-St Bart's Hospital laboratory-

Percy grinned to himself as he studied the lab report. Trace amounts of botulinum – just enough to paralyse Ms Stoner in the bathtub, causing her to drown as the bathtub overflowed. He bit back a laugh as he remembered his first ever visit to the Underworld. _Drowning in a bath tub, that brings me back_. The brief moment of levity was then lost as he remembered his companions for that quest. He went to his website and posted: 'Botulinum toxin in bubble bath bottle.'

Precisely two minutes after he had posted the message, his phone began to ring again. He picked up. 'Good! Very good!' an oily voice taunted. 'Your next…challenge is going to arrive at your flat very soon, Sherlock.'

'Give. Me. John. Watson' he ground out.

'Patience, Sherlock. This is just our first date after all.'

'If this is a date, then why not speak to me in your own voice?' Percy questioned.

'I know how much you're enjoying this game – I can't simply just give it away on our first encounter, what date would I be then? This is just the beginning my dearest Sherlock. But soon, we'll meet face to face. Be patient, Sherlock Holmes, we're just getting started.'

* * *

-221B Baker St-

Percy raised an eyebrow at the immaculately dressed man in front of him – _expense of the suit says lawyer or banker, more likely to be banker though judging by his – no, definitely a banker, judging from business card tucked into his breast pocket; perspiration stains on hands and his handkerchief poking out of his left pocket, ergo stressed, the way he keeps checking his watch and glancing around to see if there are others indicates the need for my services is urgent and of a highly confidential nature, that'd be supported by how he was wringing his hands before he came in here –_

'What can I do for you today Mr Holder?' he asked. 'I'd offer you tea but I can see from your fingers that this is of the highest importance, and being a banker I believe you'd appreciate brevity.'

'H-how?' Holder spluttered, before shaking his head. 'Bloody hell, I heard you were quick.'

'I am Sherlock Holmes; being quick is how I make my living. Now do please tell me what happened a few hours ago.'

'Y-you're right' Holder stammered out, before recomposing himself. 'Yesterday, I was approached by a client, who needed a loan of two hundred million pounds. Obviously, such a large loan needed to be backed up by some collateral. I-in this case, the collateral was a tiara, in which was set several precious stones; one of them was a diamond recently obtained from Africa, just as large as the Koh-i-noor gem before it was first cut- '

'The Koh-i-noor gem' Percy deadpanned. 'The same Koh-i-noor that happens to now be a part of the crown jewels, and weighed in at seven hundred and ninety three carats when first uncut.'

'Yes - ' Holder started.

'And now it's missing?' Percy interrupted again. 'Of course it's missing, that or the entire tiara is missing,' he waved his hand, 'You wouldn't have come here so quickly otherwise - please, tell me more Mr Holder.'

'While the bank's security is ample, it was agreed upon that I should take the tiara and store it in my personal safe. A few hours ago, in the middle of the night, I heard a noise coming from the safe room. Naturally, I hurried there at once. When I got there, I found the tiara in my son, Arthur's hands, a corner broken off, and the diamond was missing. It is, I'm sure you can understand, a matter that requires the highest discretion, and I would be willing to pay any sum you care to much, up to the limit of-'

'I'll take it' Percy said tersely. 'Let's go to your house now.'

'I-I haven't mentioned a figure-'

'Mmm, give me one hundred million pounds from your private bank account' Percy broke in. 'Now, _let's go_' he hissed out. 'Fill me in on the way.'

* * *

-Holder's house-

Percy's movements were so silent, so furtive, that they were oddly reminiscent of a trained bloodhound picking up a scent as he flittered through Alexander Holder's house. From what the man had told him, Arthur Holder was a fairly intelligent, kind young man – reading science at Oxford, he was also heavily involved in charity fundraising events and community service. He had no debts though, given who his father was, didn't want for anything; nothing at all about him seemed to indicate that he could have been involved at all in the theft – save for the fact that he had been caught holding the tiara in front of the opened safe. His mind flashed back to when he had been interrogating Alexander Holder in his chauffeured car.

'_Apart from yourself and your son, who else occupies your house Mr Holder?' Percy inquired. _

'_My niece, Mary, is the only other person who lives in my house' Holder said after a moment. _

'_Who regularly visits your house?'_

'_Well, Mary has a boyfriend, a, uh, George Blackwell. Apart from that, we have cleaning staff once every week, but they're not scheduled to visit my house until Monday.'_

'_I see…remind me, what did your son say after you asked him what happened to the diamond?'_

'_He refused to answer me and told me he was leaving' Holder said angrily. 'He said that I should have more faith in him, but how can I when I saw him holding the tiara with the safe open!'_

'_Hardly conclusive and definitive evidence' Percy scowled. _This is exactly why I usually don't take these kinds of cases, they're always jumping to conclusions,_ he sighed inwardly. Refocusing on his client, he elaborated, 'I presume that you searched his rooms and pockets and found no trace at all of the missing diamond – so if he stole the diamond, then he must have taken it earlier, and had thus returned to the scene of the crime. Consider your theory: you suppose that your son came from his rooms to your safe, stole the gem, and then returned to the room, where he had the greatest chance of being discovered. Ludicrous, is it not? No, in this case, Occam's razor prevails – he is a victim, Mr Holder, not the perpetrator.'_

'_That was amazing' Holder exclaimed in joy, before becoming sombre again. 'Regardless of my son's innocence, or lack, as the case may be, the evidence suggests strongly that he is involved with the theft, and his refusal to say anything about it is not helping him; I fear he and my firm may be prosecuted' he said worriedly, starting to wring his hands again. _

Percy paused as he inspected the safe and the tiara inside it again. He blinked. _A _platinum_ tiara? How interesting…_ He could clearly see the missing corner snapped off. _Hmmm, a bit hard to do considering just how hard platinum is… _Tensing his arms, Percy tried to break off a piece of the tiara himself; despite his own unnaturally high strength, he felt the metal only bend a bit. _Arthur Holder couldn't have done it_, he decided – from the pictures decorating the study, Arthur's build simply wasn't muscular enough to allow him to bend the stupid coronet. He glared again at the offending article of jewellery before turning his gaze towards Holder's niece, Mary. _Time to question her_, he decided, and then paused as a chain of deductions leapt into being. _Eyes are holding contact, but they're involuntarily sliding away…she feels guilty about something, but what? Her clothes – in the photographs I saw before they were always perfectly immaculate, but now? They're creased – she's not taking care of her personal appearance, then, that'd be substantiated by her hair – she hasn't brushed it, and it's nearly midday – she should have been up for several hours, so something is on her mind, but what? She _knows_ something…_

Percy turned and smiled charmingly at Holder. 'Mr Holder, I prefer to conduct my interviews with the utmost of privacy – might I request that I interview Mary alone?' he queried.

'Of course, I understand' Holder nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Percy strode over to the door immediately and locked it, before turning to Mary.

'I know that you were involved with the theft, Mary' he said calmly, blinking in surprise as she backed away from him in surprise – _she probably thinks you're a sexual predator, genius idea Percy,_ mind-palace-John snarked – snatching a heavy glass paperweight. 'Now then, I'm going to have to ask you where your boyfriend has stored it-'

'How can you possibly know about George?' she gasped out, and clapped a hand over her mouth. Percy smirked. _Hook, line, sinker_.

'I didn't, not for certain, but thank you for confirming it for me. I imagine you'll be charged with being an accessory to a theft, as well as to framing your cousin for said theft, but I could help you work out a deal' he answered. 'Tell me everything.'

Mary paled with every word he spoke, until she staggered backwards and slid against the wall. She opened her mouth and began to speak.

'Thank you, thank you Mr Holmes' Holder gasped out, hugging him furiously again. Percy felt the sides of his mouth become just a little more downturned – this was getting ridiculous, fifteen hugs in as little as five minutes! 'Here's my bank account details' he grunted, scrawling out the necessary information onto a piece of paper. 'I also think you owe your son an apology.'

'Yes, I'll be visiting him later to apologise. Thank you again, Mr Holmes, and…if there's anything you need in the future, j-just contact me' Holder smiled, wiping away tears of joy and passing him his business card.

'Thank…you?' Percy said haltingly. 'Perhaps I shall. Farewell Mr Holder' he nodded. As he strode away, he tapped out and posted another message on his website: 'It was George Blackwell along with the assistance of the niece, Mary.'

Sure enough, barely a minute after he had posted his message, his phone buzzed again; this time just an image of a swimming pool. Percy frowned as he recognised the location. _The pool where Carl Powers died._ He scrolled over to the text that accompanied it:

**Tonight, at midnight. Tell no one, or Dr Watson will die. – M**

* * *

-221B Baker St-

The moment he was in his armchair, he set an alarm on his phone for 11:00pm on maximum volume, before promptly diving into his mind palace – if he was going to successfully save John, his nerves needed to be perfectly settled, his reactions sharp, and the only way to do that was to organise all the clutter in his mind. As he opened his eyes inside his mind palace, he found John and Molly in front of him, looking at him approvingly. 'You saved the other hostages' mind-Molly smiled at him. 'I always knew you were a hero.'

'I'm not a hero' he fired back automatically. 'I just happen to be someone that does things perceived as good in the accepted deontological paradigms of today's society.'

'Bollocks!' mind-John countered calmly. 'You saved those people-'

'Because your life was at stake, John' Percy snarled out, before sighing and shaking his head. 'Arguing with myself…'

'You may have saved those people because it was John's life at stake, but do you honestly think that we believe that you weren't _infuriated_ when you heard other innocents had been dragged into this Percy?' mind-Molly questioned.

'_Don't_ make people into heroes, John, Molly' he said softly. 'Heroes don't exist anymore, and even if they did, I most certainly wouldn't be one of them.'

'It's a calling. It's your calling' the fragments of his consciousness whispered. 'You left America and the life of a demigod hero behind because you were feeling sorry for yourself. A pathetic excuse. You spent the last ten years running away, but it's time for you – us – to stop running.'

'I'm sorry I keep letting us down' he said eventually, and left.

* * *

-The Pool-

Percy could barely stop himself from running straight towards John, mindful of the overly large vest his friend was wearing. Now that he was seeing him in a fairly good light, he realised that the vest was packed with explosives – enough explosives that if they were set off, it would probably wipe out everything within a five metre radius at least. But at this distance, he could see that apart from the fading bruise that marred his face, John was unharmed, physically at least. Percy frowned as his nose detected just the faintest trace of chloroform – so this Moriarty had been sedating John for the past couple of days, that explained why he was standing so shakily, at least. He gazed around the pool again, particularly the stands, acutely aware of how they were cast in shadows – perfect for any assassin lying in wait for him. 'Who are you?' he demanded out loud, spinning slowly in a circle. 'And where are you?'

_John, are you alright?_ he sent out mentally – when they were this close, nothing could stop him from communicating with John mentally. _I'm fine, Percy_ John replied. _Percy, you need to run!_ his friend urged. _Not without you,_ Percy responded simply. _After all, you would do this for me_.

'I gave you my number. I thought you might call' a man called out plaintively, stepping out from a door across from him. Percy frowned. Wasn't this man Jim-from-IT? 'Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket? It's rather dangerous to finger a loaded firearm in one's pocket, you know' Jim-from-IT called out. 'Or are you just pleased to see me?'

'Both' Percy replied, pulling out said firearm and aiming it at the man, who strode forward confidently, heedless of the gun aimed at his head.

'Oh, I don't think you want to do that' he smiled thinly, clicking his fingers; at once, several laser sights started dancing across John's chest. 'Jim Moriarty. Hi!' he sang out as he came to a stop. Mocking disbelief painted his features, only to be coated by feigned disappointment. 'Jim? Jim from the hospital? Did I really make such a fleeting impression? Although, I suppose that _was_ rather the point.'

Moriarty slunk forward, head swaying just a tad from side to side in a hypnotic fashion, like a snake slithering through the grass. 'Don't do anything silly now Sherlllock' he drawled, hands firmly in pockets. 'I've given you a glimpse, just a tiny glimpse, of what I've got my fingers dipped into in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see. Like you!'

'Consulting criminal' Percy whispered. 'Novel. How brilliant.'

_How repugnant_, mind-palace-John whispered.

'Isn't it? I do barely anything myself of course, though I'm _more_ than capable of that; I leave the sordidness mostly to my agents. If there a crime to be done, a paper to be abstracted, a house to be rifled, a man to be removed—the word is passed to me, the matter is organized and carried out. No one gets to me. And no-one ever will' Moriarty smirked.

'_I _did.'

'Mmm, you've come the closest; _now you're in my way_.'

'Thank you.'

'Didn't mean it as a compliment.'

'Yes you did.'

'Yeah, OK, I did,' Moriarty admitted, shrugging. 'But the flirting's over Sherlock, _I've had enough now_!' he sang out. 'Although I have enjoyed this – this little game of ours. You've seen what I can do; I cut loose all those people, even that diamond just to make you come out and play.'

_Stay calm John_, Percy broadcasted_, _noticing that John was beginning to feel the pressure of having a gun pointed at his face. _If need be, I can and _will_ use my powers. There's no reason to panic, absolutely no reason to- _

_Shut up, Percy_, John snapped, scowling at him.

'So take this as a friendly warning, Sherlock, my dear. Back off,' Moriarty's voice broke into his thoughts.

'People have died' Percy ground out, unsure as to why he was saying this – why it bothered him. _Because you're a _hero, his mind jeered. _Because you're a hero, and you'll always be a hero no matter what you say…_

Moriarty shook his head faux-sadly. 'That's what people DO!' he snarled out, before, quick as lightning, he reasserted his composure. 'Do you know what happens, if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?'

'Oh, let me guess, I get killed,' Percy snarked back.

'Kill you?' Moriarty said in surprise. 'No, don't be obvious; I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway someday…I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No – no – no – no. If you don't stop prying, I'll _burn _you,' he whispered, his face, just for a moment, flashing darker than Tartarus. 'I'll burn the _heart_, out of you.'

'I've been rather reliably informed that I don't have one' Percy countered.

'But we both know that that's not quite true,' Moriarty smiled, nodding subtly at John. 'So do take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off.'

'Great. Leave' Percy growled out. 'Or the police are going to have to arrest me for murder.'

Moriarty threw back his head and started laughing – a chilling sound that sent shivers running down the partners' spines – no small feat, considering both of them were veterans of war. 'I am quite certain that someone of your intelligence can see that there is only one possible outcome to this affair. It's been a treat, Sherlock, really it has, and I must admit, I might shed some tears for you if I was forced to take any extreme measures. Oh, you smile Sherlock, but I would, I really would.'

'Danger is part of the job.'

'This is not danger' Moriarty replied. 'It is inevitable destruction, Sherlock. You're not facing just me, but a mighty organisation, which even you come up short against' he added, almost sadly. The demon in front of him smiled and shrugged, making a show of nonchalantly checking his watch. 'Well, I'd better be off. So glad we've finally had a proper chat and cleared the air.'

'What if I was to shoot you now – right now?' Percy inquired. This was the first time that he'd been challenged in a very long time, and he realised that he was drawing a kind of perverse pleasure from this entire encounter.

'Then I suppose you can cherish the look of surprise on my face,' Moriarty said cordially, completely unperturbed. The man even had the gall to mock him by opening his eyes and mouth wide open! 'Because I would be surprised, Sherlock, really I would. And just a little bit…disappointed. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long,' he smiled, gesturing towards the laser sights that now trained themselves on Percy; as the grin dropped from Moriarty's face, just for a moment, Percy felt an impending sense of doom, the shadows and night growing darker, reaching out to envelope him and consume his very being – he could have sworn later that just for a moment, his heart had stopped beating. 'Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.'

_Definitely someone with a mythically inclined family tree _Percy exulted. _Very well, so he is of divine heritage, and the fact that he used his powers so brazenly would seem to suggest that his accomplices are aware of this fact, perhaps even demigods or legacies themselves – at least, the ones here are; no demigod would risk exposing the mythical world to mortals. But then most demigods don't use high-tech explosives or firearms, so legacies seem more likely…_

Even as he mulled it over, he fired back a sarcastic 'Catch you later.'

'_No you won't_!' Moriarty sung, the door swinging shut softly behind him.

His gaze drifting to John, Percy ran over and unfastened the thick vest strapped onto John's chest. 'Are you alright?' he asked. '_Are you alright?_'

'Sherlock, I'm-I'm fine, fine' he gasped out. '_Jesus_.'

Percy reached out to steady his friend as he stumbled, absent-mindedly throwing the vest as far away from the two of them as he could. All the stress of the past few minutes seemed to be hitting John at once, as he slid back down against the pale blue wall of the changing cubicle. _Hyperventilating, dilated eyes, shock_, his mind noted. He started pacing back and forth, still mulling over Moriarty's demigod status. _You're safe now_, he assured him.

_His aura was like nothing I've ever seen before, it was completely alien, just so cold and…dark. I'm sure that I would have remembered such a distinct and potent aura – since this is the first time I've come across it, that means his parent can't be affiliated with Olympus; but its potency, how could his aura be so strong without being descended from a major god, how -_

'I'm glad no one saw that,' John interrupted his train of thought.

'Hmmm?'

'You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.'

Percy shrugged and grinned at his friend – his _best friend_ he thought with a rush of affection – wryly. 'People do little else.'

John chuckled and made to stand up, before freezing as they both sensed Moriarty's aura returning again, even stronger than before. At the same time, a sniper's laser landed on his chest, whilst several more were aimed at Percy. 'Oh-' he muttered.

'Sorry, boys! I'm _soooo_ changeable!' Moriarty cried out cheerfully as he ambled back towards them, stopping next to the explosives-packed vest. 'It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my _only_ weakness.' The man lifted spread his arms out and smiled at them beatifically – _like a prophet of the lord_, Percy's mind snarked – 'You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I _would_ try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!'

'Probably my answer has crossed yours,' Percy replied, after exchanging a quick glance with John, before lifting his pistol and aiming it at the vest lying innocuously on the floor. As he did so, he subtly asserted his powers over the swimming pool, ready to summon it to block an explosion and provide a shield for himself and John should the need arise. As the tension escalated, and Percy was just deciding to fire off the shot, regardless of the consequences, music shattered the air from Moriarty's pocket. Closing his eyes, Moriarty sighed, exasperated at the interruption. 'Do you mind if I get that?'

'No, no, please, go ahead,' Percy replied pleasantly. 'You've got the rest of your life.'

Moriarty took his phone from his pocket and answered it. 'Hello?' he said, the faintest tinge of annoyance colouring his voice. 'Yes, of _course _it is, what do you want?'

_Sorry_, he mouthed at Percy.

_Oh it's fine_, Percy sniped back sarcastically.

Moriarty frowned as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. 'SAY THAT AGAIN' he roared. 'Say that again, and know that if you are lying to me, I will find you, and I will _skin_ you.' Again, the man frowned, looking toward Percy and John angrily, before turning his back on them. 'Sorry. Wrong way to die' he bit out. 'If you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes' he continued on the phone. Raising his free hand, Moriarty clicked his fingers; the lasers trained on John and Percy pulled away and disappeared. 'You'll be hearing from me, Seaweed Brain' he promised casually as he strolled away.

Percy's eyes widened. _What? How could he…_

As he began drawing on his power, ready to smash Moriarty until the man told him everything he wanted to know, the demon in front of him turned back and smiled thinly. 'Oh, by the way, did I mention that I had my people plant several bombs around London?' he threw out. 'If you attack me, _Percy_, then they have instructions to set them off.'

'Those are people's lives you're playing with' he snapped out, ignoring John's approving glance – he wasn't a hero damn it, he just wanted answers! _Being a hero isn't something you retire from_, mind-palace-John whispered.

'It's all a game, Percy, everything is a game' Moriarty giggled. 'So let me leave, my dear Percy, or you'll have the blood of thousands of innocents on your hands' he winked slyly.

'You're wrong. When you start playing with people's lives, it becomes more than just a game' Percy bit out. 'I will stop you' he promised. 'And know this, Jim Moriarty' he called out as the man began to turn to leave; the man paused, back facing him. 'If I were assured of your eventual destruction, I would, in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept my own.'

'I can promise you the one, but not the other' Moriarty shot back, and continued to move away.

'Sherlock, what just happened?' John asked after the door swung shut behind Moriarty, sighing in relief. He glanced at his friend, and found his jaw dropping at the look on Percy's face. Even though it was rapidly fading, he could clearly see astonishment, mixed with, dare he say it, raw, primal, _fear_.

'Someone must have changed his mind. The question is who…' Percy said distractedly.

'Any ideas?'

'Haven't the foggiest' Percy lied. He shoved his hands into his pockets, where John wouldn't see them curling into fists, fingernails biting into his flesh. _It was _her, he thought. Who else could it be? He ground his teeth in anger and self-hatred. Why was it, even after all this time, she still had this effect on him?

* * *

-Two months later-

'Really, John? 'The Speckled Blonde'? 'The Geek Interpreter'? Where on earth do you come up with these titles?' Percy sighed as he peeked over his friend's shoulder.

'Shut up, Percy' he said automatically. 'One thousand eight hundred and ninety five' he read out from his website's counter.

'What?'

'This website has gotten nearly two thousand hits in the past eight hours – we're officially a-'

* * *

-Simultaneously-

_**Internet phenomenon: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson**_

_Since moving in together, these two confirmed bachelors have assisted bumbling police chiefs – ranging from Scotland Yard to the NYPD with numerous cases; from killer taxi drivers to hunting down terrorists, they have succeeded where the authorities have often failed. _

_John Watson is a former army doctor with a distinguished record of service in Afghanistan, and is a decorated war hero. Now, the soldier has turned from fighter to writer; his blog has become an overnight Internet sensation. In it, Dr Watson gives details of the cases he and his partner Sherlock Holmes have solved, both with and without police assistance._

_Sherlock Holmes is a mysterious consulting detective that has been working with Scotland Yard and the NYPD, amongst other organisations, for over five years. Little is known about this detective, save for the fact that he graduated top of his class in Oxford University, equal with a close colleague, Molly Hooper, a registrar at St Bartholomew's Hospital. He also obtained a masters' degree in chemistry from Oxford and has written several monographs to do with the study of tobacco ash and advanced research topics in chemistry. Sherlock Holmes takes cases via his website, The Science of Deduction . _

_For more information on the dynamic duo sweeping the world, read page 2. _

Thalia shrugged and turned the page, only to gasp in surprise as she saw the picture of the two consulting detectives. _Percy…is Sherlock Holmes? _

**_Response to reviews:_**

**_steve, ImaGuest and The Baker: Thanks for that man, I shall endeavour to continue this to the very end!_**

**_lol, myra and ImaGuest: I shall take your suggestions for John's heritage under advisement._**

**_Author's note: When I checked my story stats today, I was pleasantly surprised to find that this work had almost 2000 views! Thanks so much for reading this guys, please stay tuned for more chapters, I will update as fast as possible! As always, suggestions for cases from Doyle's canon will be greatly appreciated, and the same goes for suggestions for John's divine heritage. Thanks again for reading this story; I sincerely hope that this chapter is to your liking, because this is where everything really starts to get going! The Greek world and Percy are set to collide together very soon, within 2 chapters! I wonder what they will make of this new Percy...? I am also looking for a beta reader; if anyone is interested please send me a PM :). In concluding, please read and review._**

**_Regards,_**

**_ApocalypticPhoenix_**


	6. The Woman

Disclaimer: Same as Chapter 1

* * *

Chapter 6: The Woman

In the two months that had passed since confronting Moriarty, Percy threw himself back into working with a vengeance - desperate, perhaps, to reclaim some of that excitement he'd felt whilst duelling with his newfound nemesis – or perhaps he was trying to track down his nemeses' movements through the crimes perpetrated throughout the city. If that was the case, he was to be disappointed – Moriarty seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. John was happy for the most part with Percy's renewed drive, as his blog received more and more traffic as time went by, providing them both with an increased source of income. One thing that he was most definitely _not_ happy about however, was Percy's insistence on remaining within the flat for any cases that he deemed too menial, while he sent out John with a Skype-enabled laptop to examine the crime scene remotely. It was during one such case Percy found himself unceremoniously 'invited' to Buckingham Palace – which is to say, he was dragged kicking and screaming from 221B.

John did a double-take as he was escorted inside the meeting room. Seated on a cream sofa was Percy, petulantly naked save for a plain white sheet wrapped around him, pointedly ignoring the clothes and shoes lying on the small table in front of him. _What the hell is happening?_ he gestured at Percy.

_Who knows?_, Percy shrugged back. John nodded – he seemed to be doing that a lot these days, he realised. He walked toward, casually gazing around the opulent room, before seating himself next to his friend, settling into a comfortable silence.

After a few minutes though, even his exceptional capacity for patience was exhausted: 'Are you wearing any pants?'

'Nope,' Sherlock smirked, popping out the 'p' cheerfully.

'OK.'

For a moment, they settled back into amiable silence, before starting to chortle at the sheer ludicrousness of the entire situation.

_Percy, what are we doing here? Seriously, what?_, John beamed to his friend.

_My dear Watson, I haven't the foggiest_, Percy admitted.

'Are we here to see the Queen?' John pondered out loud.

'Oh, apparently yes,' Sherlock grinned, having caught sight of Mycroft entering the room; the two of them fell into another set of giggles, whilst Mycroft simply sighed in exasperation.

'Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?' the elder Holmes drawled out.

'We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn't hold out too much hope' John commented.

Mycroft tactfully decided to ignore that remark, instead offering Percy his clothes. Percy raised an elegant eyebrow. _Whatever are those for?_, he seemed to be asking. Mycroft sighed in exasperation and tossed the clothes onto his adopted sibling's lap.

'We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, _put your trousers on_,' he hissed out towards the end.

Again, that mocking eyebrow.

'For your client' Mycroft ground out.

'Who is?' Percy demanded, drawing himself up to his full height.

'Illustrious in the extreme, I can assure you' a palace official interrupted as he strode into the room. 'Mycroft!', he exclaimed in surprise, and moved over to shake his hand cordially.

'Harry! May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?' Mycroft rejoindered.

'It's a full-time occupation I imagine' Harry replied, glancing at Percy condescendingly. Percy scowled and curled his lip at the man to show him just how much his opinion meant to him.

'Mycroft, I'm afraid that I don't do anonymous clients. Good day,' Percy said, stretching his lips about a centimetre in what could barely be considered a smile. As he began making his way out however, Mycroft stepped onto the trailing edge of sheet. Together with his forward motion, the sheet began slipping off of Percy's body, though he managed to hold onto the edge before his modesty was compromised.

'This is a matter of national importance. _Grow up!_' Mycroft growled out.

Now more furious than annoyed, Percy seethed through gritted teeth 'Get. Off. My. Sheet.'

'Or what?'

'Or I'll just walk away.'

'I'll let you' Mycroft countered.

'Boys, please, not here,' John interjected.

'Who. Is. My. _Client_?' Percy almost shrieked out, near incandescent with rage.

'Take a look at where we are and make a deduction' Mycroft snarled out. 'You are to be engaged by the highest authority in the land – now for god's sake, put your clothes on!'

-Some time later-

'What do you know about this woman?' Mycroft probed as he passed Percy a set of pictures, all of them featuring a beautiful woman, some in rather compromising positions.

'Nothing whatsoever,' Percy admitted as he pointedly checked his watch.

'Then you should be paying more attention, brother mine' the elder Holmes reprimanded. 'She's recently been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately.'

'Yes, yes, do skip the trivia and get to the important bit, if you wouldn't mind' Percy said dryly. 'Who is she, and why is she of concern?'

'Her name is Irene Adler; professionally, she is known as "The Woman"' Mycroft informed him.

'Professionally?' John interjected.

'There are many names for what she does. She prefers "dominatrix" ' Mycroft clarified.

'Dominatrix' Percy deadpanned.

'Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex' Mycroft snarked.

'Sex doesn't alarm me.'

'How would _you_ know?'

An uncomfortable silence descended as the two 'brothers' stared at each other. John shifted uneasily and cleared his throat loudly. 'Right, then. So obviously, she has some compromising photographs?'

'A considerable number, apparently, featuring herself and a young female person' Mycroft admitted.

'And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?' Percy interrupted.

'An…imaginative range, we are assured' Mycroft stated, his sheer distaste at the entire situation evident by his curled lips.

'Can you help us, Mr Holmes? Will you take this case?' Harry queried.

'Case? What case? As Ms Adler remarks in her masthead, "Know when you are beaten"' Percy scoffed. He turned and started reaching for his coat. 'Now if that's all…'

'She doesn't want anything' Mycroft broke in. In response, Percy merely raised an elegant eyebrow. 'She got in touch, informed us that the photographs existed, and indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort money or favour', he elaborated.

'Oh, a power play' Percy commented, his interest finally piqued. 'A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that _is_ a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather _fun_, isn't it?,' he grinned. 'Where is she?'

Not even waiting for a reply, he jumped up and clapped his hands together sharply. 'Text me the details, I'll be in touch. Laters!'

* * *

-Inside Adler's house-

Percy had just taken off his coat and allowed himself to sink into the luxuriantly decadent sofa, slipping his lock picks into his pocket when he sensed a predatory gaze directed at him. 'I'm pleased to meet you at last, Mr Sherlock Holmes. Is there anything I could…do for you?' a soft, throaty voice called out. Percy turned his head to the side and found his jaw dropping open slightly, completely dumbstruck. For, leaning casually against the door frame was a stark naked Irene Adler.

'Ms Adler' he said after a moment.

'Such sharp cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try, Sherrrlockk?' she flirted, leaning in close towards him. Percy met her eyes in a deadpan manner, refusing to give in to her charms.

It was to this scene that John eventually walked in a few minutes later, Adler and Percy holding each other's gaze challengingly, refusing to back down. 'Sherlock, why exactly did you feel the need to close the door in my- ' he started, before stopping as he realised the position his friend was in. 'Um, I've missed something, haven't I?' he finally asked.

'Obviously' Adler and Percy replied in unison.

_Percy, what the HELL is going on?_, he sent out.

_She's trying to throw me off my game, obviously, now stop thinking, it's distracting, _came Percy's irritable reply. 'Please, make yourself at home' Irene invited. 'Would you like some tea?' she offered, as an afterthought.

'I had some at the palace' Percy told her.

'I know' she shot back affably, crossing her arms and legs comfortably as she settled back in an armchair. Percy frowned; he couldn't seem to make any kind of deduction about her at all. Completely bewildered, he turned to John and rapidly analysed him, before turning back to Adler and trying again. He still couldn't do it, he realised. Irene smiled at him confidently, waiting for him to speak.

'Er, could you put something on please?' John interrupted, taking pains to avoid gazing at her. 'Er, anything at all?' he squeaked as she turned her gaze on him.

'Why? Are you feeling…exposed?' Irene whispered lasciviously.

'I don't think that John quite knows where to look' Percy interrupted, quite enjoying his companion's discomfort.

'Oh, I think he knows _exactly_ where to look; I'm not quite sure about _you_ though' Irene corrected at him, leaning in a little closer towards him.

'Yes, if I wanted to look at naked women I'd borrow John's laptop' Percy deadpanned, tossing her his coat.

_You _do_ borrow my laptop_, John pointed out.

_I confiscate it, John_, Percy rationalised.

'Well, never mind that' Adler said, wrapping Percy's coat around her, before plunking herself back onto her armchair. 'We've got better things to talk about – for instance, how was it done? The hiker with the bashed in head. How was he killed?'

'That's not what I'm here about' Percy frowned.

'I _know_, you're here for the photographs, but that's never going to happen, and since we're just here chatting anyway…' Irene purred out.

'That story hasn't been on the news yet' John interrupted in surprise. 'How can you possibly-'

'I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he _likes_' Irene clarified absent-mindedly, eyes never moving from Percy.

'Oh. And you like policemen?' the doctor queried.

'I like detective stories – _and _detectives. Brainy's the new sexy' Adler winked at Percy.

'Position of the car…' the consulting detective trailed off, still rattled by Adler's nakedness. He shook his head quickly and tried to pull himself back together – outwardly, his composure seemed to change only minutely. 'Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know,' he rattled off, still a little flustered.

'Okay, tell me then, how was he murdered?' Adler said curiously.

'He wasn't.'

'You don't think it was murder?'

'Oh, I _know_ it wasn't.'

'Alright, but _how_?' Irene insisted.

'The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room' Percy replied.

'Okay, but _how_?' Adler demanded.

'Ah, so they _are_ in this room,' the demigod deduced. 'John, man the door, let nobody in.'

_And use that lighter I gave you to get some smoke outside too_, _enough to activate the smoke alarm_, he added.

_Understood_, John responded.

Percy stood up and stretched his legs before slowly pacing around Adler, circling her like a shark.

'Looking for the photos now?' Irene challenged.

'Not just yet, you're moderately clever and we've got a moment, so I suppose I can indulge you' he stalled. 'Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car. Two men, a car, and nobody else. The driver's trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere. And the hiker's taking a moment, looking at the sky. Watching the birds perhaps? Any moment now, something's gonna happen. What?'

'The hiker dies' Adler deadpanned.

'No, no, no that's the result. What happens?'

'The car backfires' said Adler.

'There's going to be a loud noise.'

'So, what?'

'Oh, noises are rather important – they can tell you all sorts of things. For instance…' as Percy paused for dramatic effect, the smoke alarm started to ring throughout the house. There it was! Just for a second, The Woman's eyes had slid over towards the large mirror mounted atop her fireplace. Percy got up and started running his fingers over the mirror frame, trying to find a hidden switch. 'Thank you, Ms Adler. Now then…eureka!' he exclaimed as his digits located a slight depression at the bottom of the frame; after he pressed it, the mirror slowly moved upwards, revealing a small wall safe behind it.

_You can turn it off now John_, he sent.

_I'm on it, I'm on it_, the doctor grumbled back.

Satisfied, the consulting detective leaned towards the wall safe, intently studying the keypad imbedded into the front of the safe. 'Hmm. You really should always use gloves with these kinds of things you know. Heaviest oil deposit is always on the first key used – in this case, the three, but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read' Percy lectured before taking a second look at the safe. 'I recognise the make of this safe, it's a six digit code; not your birthday though, you were clearly born in the eighties but the eight looks like its completely untouched…'

'I would tell you the code right now, but I already have' Adler winked at him. Percy frowned at her in confusion. '_Think_' she told him, just a moment before three men burst into the room, one of them dragging an unconscious John behind him. Percy began boiling with rage as he saw the large bruise forming on his doctor's forehead. _No one_ hurt his friends and got away with it, _no one_. With an effort, he stifled the growing fire of rage that blazed within him and channelled it into a cool icy resolve. _I'm going to rip the fluids out of their bodies – no, far too messy and too many questions would be raised by Ms Adler…we'll need to do this the old fashioned way, with our bare hands; after I knock them out, I'll start by beating them to a pulp with my baton –_

_Oh, Percy, we both know you're not going to _actually _kill them – horribly wound them and scar them for life, yes, but not actually kill them_, mind-John-and-Molly whispered in unison. _Oh, shut up_, he replied irritably, and refocused his attention to the room.

'I want you to open the safe, Mr Holmes' the man who was presumably the leader of this team spoke; _American accent, well-trained judging by his stance and ease with handling firearms, quite possibly CIA, or at least, an intelligence agent of some kind…now why would the Americans, or anybody else in the intelligence community want their hands on some compromising photographs? From what Mycroft told me, Adler is very discreet, so they shouldn't know about the photographs…so there's something more that she has, something that they want, something important enough to invade her house in central London regardless of the risk of being caught_, fired through his mind.

'I'm afraid I don't know the code' he replied coolly.

'We were listening, she said that she told you.'

'Well if you were listening, you'd know that she _didn't_.'

'I'm assuming that we missed something. From your reputation, I'm assuming you _didn't_, Mr Holmes. The safe, now, please.'

'Oh for the love of…,' Percy sighed, and pointed at the Woman, '_she_ knows the code, go and ask her.'

'Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman.'

'Mr Holmes doesn't know…' Irene started, before stopping as the man pointed his gun at her, glaring ferociously.

'One more word out of you – just one – and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your pretty head. That, for me, will not be a hardship' the agent snarled out. He continued, 'Mr Archer. At the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson. One.'

'I don't know the code' Percy insisted.

'Two.'

'She didn't tell me, I don't _know it_!' Percy exclaimed.

'I'm prepared to believe you any second now' the agent said calmly. 'Thre-'

'No, wait, stop!' Percy shouted. He turned back to the safe, pressing 'three' without hesitation. He paused, finger hovering over the keypad; _from what I've seen, Irene Adler is a fairly vain person, so it stands to reason that her keycode would be something reflecting that…now, she claims to have told me the code, and she didn't appear to be lying…so, it goes without saying that she was using steganography of some kind…let's see, she appeared to me completely naked, so…her measurements?_ Involuntarily, Percy's face gained just the faintest tint of red as his mind systematically reconstructed a facsimile of Adler's body in excruciating detail. In reality, his fingers moved like a blur, punching in the rest of the code. The safe beeped and unlocked. He let out a sigh of relief.

'Thank you, Mr Holmes. Open it for me, if you please.'

Glancing around, he focused on Adler – _posture tensed, ready for action, so she's expecting something to happen _– who had just jerked her head downwards warningly – _telling me to get of the way of the safe, probably a loaded gun in there, the safe's too small for anything else _– then at the agent who had dragged John into the room. He was directly behind him, which meant…he was in the line of fire. _Perfect_, Percy decided. He opened the safe, throwing himself to the side and tackling the leader as he did so. It was all over in seconds – the moment after the gun in the safe had fired, Mr Archer fell down, dead, whilst Percy and Irene each effectively dispatched one man each, and in near-identical fashion – snatching their guns and smashing them in the face. As Adler checked the vitals of the presumably-Americans, Percy reached into the safe and pocketed the phone inside, and rushed over to John.

_Fairly large bruise, but he _shouldn't_ have a concussion at least_ he decided after inspecting the wound. As he continued examining John for any other wounds he might have missed, he was only dimly aware of Adler's presence behind him. It came as a complete surprise to him, then, when Irene Adler flipped him onto the ground and injected a sedative into him. Percy could barely raise himself from the ground as she expertly rifled through his pockets. 'Ah, thank you very much Mr Holmes' she smiled as she finally found her phone. 'This is how I want you to remember me…the woman who beat you' she whispered in his ear, gently kissing his cheek. 'Tell your employers that the photographs are safe with me. They're not for blackmail, merely insurance' she added, sliding something into his breast pocket.

'Farewell, Sherlock Holmes' she nodded, as a salute from one intellectual to another, and left, raising her phone to her ear as she walked away. Percy heaved and gasped, trying to chase after all; with a gargantuan effort, he managed to get onto his knees, but by then, he knew she was long gone. He sighed and slumped down against the floor again, exhausted; in the distance, he thought that he perhaps could hear some sirens. And then darkness consumed him, and he knew no more.

* * *

-221B Baker St-

Percy jerked awake with a gasp; he could have sworn that Irene Adler had just been here in his room. _It's OK…I'm just returning your _coat, he remembered her voice whispering. If she had been here…'John!' he called out. 'John!'

'H-how did I get here?' he sputtered out. 'And are you alright?' he asked, gesturing vaguely at the fading bruise on his friend's head.

'Well, the police carried both of us here – though I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone. And I'm fine, thanks for asking' John replied. As Percy got up and staggered around, searching for any trace of her presence – anything, John sighed and supported his friend, bundling him back to his bed.

'Where – where is she?' Percy demanded.

'Where's who?' John asked, puzzled.

'The woman. That woman. _The_ woman. The _woman_ woman!' Percy bellowed as he collapsed into his bed.

'I-Irene Adler? She got away, no one found her' John told him. As Percy tried to get out of bed again, he found John gently pushing him back into the bed. 'Bed rest. Doctor's orders' John commanded. 'If you need me, I'll be next door' he called out, closing the door behind him.

'Why would I need you?' Percy asked blearily.

'No reason at all.'

As the door closed behind John, Percy settled back into his bed, propping himself up with pillows, gaze furiously scanning the room; surely, there had to be some clue that he'd missed…he shot upright as he remembered how he had felt her slip something into his breast pocket when she had…beaten him. Perhaps that might tell him something? Fingers trembling, he slowly dipped them into his pocket and drew them out; there, in his hand was a picture of Irene Adler in an evening dress, on the back was simply scrawled – to Sherlock Holmes. As he contemplated the photo and slowly slipped it into a drawer of his bedside table, a low, erotic moan sounded through his room. _What?_ _I only have one phone on hand; all my burner phones are stored elsewhere – as my phone was in my coat pocket, it goes without saying then that my coat has to be here!_ he exulted. _So she was here after all…_ There! Hanging on a hook attached to his door, it was no wonder that he hadn't seen it before; Percy stumbled over, fumbling inside the coat pockets, until he found his phone. A simple text message stared out at him from the screen:

**Till next time, Mr Holmes.**

Percy grinned tiredly as he saw the text; he had a feeling that this was the start of a beautiful relationship.

* * *

-A week later, 221B Baker St-

When Percy woke up again a few hours later, he found Molly and John busy with a game of Operation. _What's she doing here?_ he wondered. He greeted the two of them with a nod, carelessly throwing himself onto the sofa. 'What brings you here Molly?' he asked eventually, peering at her back as she passed the tweezers to John. _Back tensed, prepared for a confrontation of some kind, or just simply nervous – hands slightly sweaty, body language reads as guarded…there's something she wants to tell me then, but she's afraid that I'm not going to react well…_

His theory was confirmed as she turned to face him – _regretful, yet resolved_, he determined, before frowning as he noticed her eyes – _just faintly red-rimmed – something must have happened_. 'P-Percy' she started, wringing her hands nervously. 'I-I'm leaving Percy' she continued, biting her lip nervously as she tried to gauge his reaction. _Go on_, he motioned. 'M-my parents,' she said softly, 'they- they're sick, so I-I need to be with them, in New York.'

Percy felt like he was being floored. 'I-I'm so sorry' he croaked out eventually. 'I am so sorry' he repeated. 'I- I wasn't expecting this, b-but I understand' he told her, reaching out to hug her – one of the very few voluntary hugs he had participated in. 'You need to be with them.'

'P-Percy, this, this is most likely going to be a permanent move' Molly whispered into his ears. 'I – I'm leaving next week.'

'It's OK' he assured her. 'I understand.'

As he awkwardly patted her shoulder, mouthing _help me_ to John, he felt Molly smile wanly through the tears, and as John joined them in their hug, somehow he felt that everything would work out for the best.

* * *

-221B Baker St, a few weeks later-

Percy winced as he read a text from Mycroft.

**She's in New York. – MH**

_We all knew this day was coming_, mind-John-and-Molly whispered in the depths of his mind._ It's time to stop running. And it's been ages since we visited mum_. Percy sighed and replied, fingers trembling just slightly, hinting at his inner turmoil.

**It looks like I'm going to New York then brother dear. It's time to go hunting.– SH**

**Good luck. – MH**

-New York-

Irene Adler's eyes widened as she read the text that had just been sent to her from one of her 'clients'.

**Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been hired to track you down**

_When pursued by so formidable an antagonist, the best thing to do is to flee the nest_, she decided. _I need to fake my death_…

* * *

-One hour later, Percy's old apartment before he left New York-

As Percy slunk through the flat, John paused, studying his partner's back. Despite the impassive façade his friend presented the world with, he knew him well enough that he could tell that going back to the US had shaken him to his very core. Or perhaps it was the trepidation of meeting Molly again? Although Percy had hidden it well, John could easily determine that losing one of his best and oldest friends – quite possibly forever – was something that he hadn't quite come to terms with yet. _Nor should he have_, his mind whispered. _It would be a poor friend indeed that moved on after they were gone for only a few weeks, after all_. From here, he could see that Percy was just a tad paler than just a few moments before at 221B, fingers trembling slightly in nervous anticipation.

'Percy, are you sure you're up to-'

'I'm fine' Percy grunted. 'I'm just going to leave a note for my mum, won't be a minute. Here, take these' he said, tossing over a set of keys. 'You'll need them to get in here unless you fancy practicing your lock picking skills – which honestly need improvement' he commented dryly.

John scowled at him and pocketed the keys. 'So where are we heading to first?' he inquired.

'If I know Ms Adler, by now she would have been informed of our arrival-'

'That's impossible Percy, no one apart from Mycroft even knows-'

'Governments spy on each other John, that's what they _do_. At least it keeps them from running their countries – gods only know that they're much more capable of incompetence when it comes to actually improving the lot of the masses. Anyway, as I was saying, by now Ms Adler would have been informed of our intention to search for her; luckily though, I estimate that she could have only known about us pursuing her here for an hour or so; I have it on good authority that she was at Long Beach when Mycroft put in the call; ergo if we hurry, we may be able to catch her at her residence, which luckily for us, is only a few blocks away from here.'

John nodded, and moved towards the door, Percy just a few steps behind him. As they stepped out onto the pavement, he paused, sniffing the air delicately. 'Hey, Percy…,' he said slowly, 'do you smell smoke?'

'I- ' Percy broke off as he noticed saw a pillar of flames and smoke rising further down the road. No, there was something more than that – he could feel it blaring at his senses, it was so familiar, what, what, what! He gasped as a terrible realisation slowly stole over him. 'No!' he cried out, breaking out into a sprint, racing down across the road; just as John was certain his friend was suicidal, he flicked out his baton and somehow _extended_ it into a twenty foot pole – _must have enchanted it beforehand_, John mused – the net effect of which was him neatly pole vaulting across the road. _Showoff_, John grumbled inwardly, following suit. As the two of them turned a corner and pounded towards the burning house, John's eyes caught sight of a screaming woman trapped inside on the top floor. Just as the pair skidded to a halt in front of the house, they caught sight of a trio of Cyclopes running away– only these were no ordinary Cyclopes: at least five metres tall, they by far towered over every other Cyclops or giant that the pair had met in their careers.

Percy sent to John, _Cyclopes of that size must be very ancient, and, logically, quite powerful to have survived so long – now what are they doing out in the open killing Ms Adler? _

_You're sure she's dead_?, John questioned.

_I don't know_, Percy admitted, already starting to run, _but whoever that woman was is definitely dead by now – see how those stones are melting? We need to chase after those Cyclopes, maybe we can get a lead on where to find Ms Adler if she's faked her death, as I expect she would_ _have; we also need to question her about her ties to the mythological world._

A comfortable silence descended between the two of them as they loped their way behind the Cyclops, who seemed to be heading towards Central Park. Percy frowned to himself. _What was in Central Park? Secret entrance to the Underworld…maple tree of Hyperion…those are the only two things of significance…now it's highly unlikely that they're heading for the Underworld, their musical skills are terrible, so, I have to assume that they're doing something to that tree…oh, I see. Not good._ Percy sped up even further, alternately extending and retracting his baton cum vaulting pole, desperate to intercept the Cyclops. With their longer legs and headstart though, the pair of them were still straggling behind by some two hundred metres when a massive golden light began to flare out from the maple tree that held Hyperion; the ground started shaking as if Poseidon himself was throwing a temper tantrum, enough to knock the Cyclopes down onto the ground. As the light slowly cleared, the two detectives found themselves blinking furiously, trying to clear the spots and stars that danced across the vision.

Percy snapped his fingers, restoring their vision back to its normal state, and immediately started peering around. He gasped as he saw the crater where Hyperion's tree had once been. _He's free_, he realised, a chill running through his body. He jogged over to the closest Cyclops, ready to draw Riptide at the slightest provocation. 'Who are you working for?' he demanded. 'Why did you kill Irene Adler and why did you just free Hyperion?'

As the Cyclops laughed and spat at him, Percy swung Riptide and stabbed it right into its solitary eye, ignoring the gore that sprayed across his suit and coat as the monster writhed and screamed. 'TELL ME!' he roared at it. What he could have learned from the monsters, he would never know, because silver arrows suddenly sprouted from their heads. Percy swore and turned around, holding his hands up in the universal gesture for 'I'm unarmed'. _Idiots. Must not punch them, must not punch them_, he recited.

'Thalia' he greeted, only to receive a sharp slap across his face; he was certain the ensuing crack could have been heard all the way across the other side of New York.

'Shut up, Jackson' she snarled out, zapping him for good measure. 'I have questions, and you will answer them, but first I'm going to take you to the gods.'

* * *

-Olympus, throne room of the gods-

Artemis sighed and longingly glanced at the world outside; she found council meetings as boring as ever, and winter solstice meetings like today were even more tedious – Zeus, Poseidon and Hades were bickering amongst themselves whilst Dionysus, Ares and Hermes seemed to have made it their life ambition to cause as much mayhem as possible. The other female Olympians seemed to be chattering about something or other as they lounged in their thrones; the minor gods, Hecate, Janus, Hebe and so on were irritably trying to focus on the topics at hand, still new to the entire concept of being included in council meetings; Hestia was peacefully tending the hearth, as she always had. Despite the rising cacophony that seemed to escalate with every passing moment, the bang of the doors as they slammed upon echoed throughout the entire throne room. The entire room fell silent as the gods turned to look at the intruders. Artemis blinked in surprise as she saw her lieutenant Thalia Grace and two other Hunters storming in, leading two men in behind then.

'My apologies for the interruption my lords and ladies, but this is rather important' Thalia ground out uncomfortably. 'The Titan Hyperion has escaped.'

As the gods started shouting in panic, Thalia sighed and clapped her hands, causing a thunderclap to echo throughout the room, silencing them like petulant children. _Which most of them acted like_, Artemis thought in amusement. 'As I was saying,' Thalia continued in the ensuing silence, 'Hyperion has escaped from his prison. These men were found at the scene.'

The taller of the pair stood up, dusting himself off, and offered a hand to his companion. 'Thalia, really, this is ridiculous-' he started.

'Oh, shut up Sherlock Holmes, or do you prefer Percy Jackson?' she shot back, making everyone gasp in surprise, leaning in closely to verify that it was indeed the lost Hero of Olympus. Artemis went stiff, her entire body frozen in surprise as she stared back into those deep sea green eyes that had captured her all those years ago.

Percy clicked his fingers to clean his and John's clothes before summoning the two of them their armchairs from 221B. As he sat down he steepled his fingers and smiled at them thinly.

'So…Perseus' Zeus started awkwardly, peering down at his formerly-missing-favourite-nephew, 'what can you tell us about Hyperion's escape?'

'Yes.'

'I'm sorry?'

'I should hope so, your security around the stupid tree was abysmal and you only have yourselves to blame for his escape' Percy said, petulantly crossing his arms, unflinching as the gods directed their gazes at him. It took John sighing and giving him a _look_ for Holmes to relent. 'Fine,' he sighed, 'the two of us just happened to be in the area and we noticed some Cyclopes heading towards Central Park. Being the fine, upstanding citizens that we are, we tried to intercept and interrogate them for information, but we were too late to stop them freeing Hyperion'. Percy jumped up frenetically, spinning around rapidly, taking in the entire throne room. 'Nice to know that you actually upheld my wish of granting every god a throne' he commented as he seated himself again.

As he finished, everyone turned to Apollo, who merely nodded and said, 'He's telling the truth'. The gods visibly relaxed; whilst they would probably never admit it, the thought of facing down the man who had single-handedly taken down Gaea herself was rather unappealing, despite their superior numbers. After all, Perseus Jackson had proven to himself _more_ than worthy of the moniker (unknowingly) bestowed upon him – The King: the supreme demigod of the modern era.

Zeus spoke up again, 'Perseus, we need your help.'

'My help?' he scoffed.

'Yes,' Zeus admitted freely, 'a few years ago, several of the most powerful monsters began to reawaken again-'

'Boring. Not interested.'

'W-what?' the gods spluttered.

'You want my assistance in dealing with whatever threat to the gods is rising, yes? My answer is no.'

'You would deny a request from the gods?' Zeus asked, his voice hardening, face darkening in anger. As he glanced at Poseidon, he noticed that his brother didn't seem surprised at all by Perseus' complete change in demeanour…._he _knew_ where Perseus was all these years, and he didn't tell us!_, he realised.

'Sorry, I'll have to pass on that,' Percy said, motioning towards his partner, 'My doctor here, John Watson, says that I have a malformed public-duty gland and a natural deficiency in moral fiber, and because of that, I am therefore excused from having to save the gods'. Inwardly, though, Percy's mind was racing: _if they want me to be investigating and killing monsters, I should be able to get into contact with whoever assigned those Cyclopes to kill Ms Adler, if, indeed, she was killed…the game isn't over yet, not by a long shot_.

Zeus sighed and pinched his nose. 'What will it take for you to help us?' he questioned.

Percy smirked at the god. 'I want twelve times my normal rate, in US dollars. And a house – a good house – in Manhattan.'

'Done' Zeus agreed quickly, before the man could change his mind.

* * *

-Outside the throne room-

In the few hours that had passed since Percy's demand of pay and housing – for both himself and John – he had started catching up with his old friends, most of whom seemed to have accepted him back tentatively; although they were understandably a little resentful that he hadn't deigned to keep in touch with them, they had understood his reasons and accepted them for the most part – though they had threatened him with tortures worse than those in the Fields if he decided to continue ignoring them once he went back to Britain. Thalia, though…he shivered slightly at the slightly evil look in her eyes – he doubted she had completely forgiven him yet – if she had even begun to at all. The young demigod winced slightly as his father hugged him – _I think I can feel some ribs giving way…_. 'It's good to see you again dad' he gasped out eventually. 'But I really need to be going home to mum, and visit some of my friends too, I suppose' he excused himself.

'Oh, all right' Poseidon sighed. 'Just don't disappear like you did the last time.'

'No promises' Percy said dryly as his father vanished, leaving behind the faintest trace of a sea breeze. The demigod leaned against the wall and focused his gaze at the figure he could just barely make out lurking in the shadows. 'I know you're there' he called out.

'So, you're back' a cool voice said from the shadows. Percy stiffened, instantly recognising the sound of that voice – how could he not? Its owner had been the one to drag him out of depression over a decade ago. Unwillingly, he turned and met the goddess' eyes; they were just like the ones he imagined whenever he woke up – angry, betrayed, accusing. He had desperately hoped to try and put off this conversation until he could work out what to say to her, but it seemed like the universe was conspiring against him tonight. Remaining as calm as possible as anyone possibly could when having an angry goddess in front of them, he gave her a short nod; he didn't trust himself to speak – even after over a decade away from her, she still captivated him, she was still just as breathtaking in his mind as Aphrodite.

'Yes' he eventually forced out, wincing inwardly as she stepped into the light and he saw the restrained resentment seething on her face. He barely stopped himself from shivering as the look in her eyes changed to contemptuous.

'For how long?,' she demanded, 'How long are you staying this time before you decide to leave everything, m- everyone behind again?'

'I didn't leave everyone behind' he protested weakly. 'I just…needed time to think.'

'You apparently didn't tell any of your other friends that you were leaving either' she commented dryly, leaning against the wall herself. 'You left everyone who ever cared about you worrying about you, wondering whether you had been kidnapped, whether you were alright or not' she accused.

'…I left notes' he said eventually.

'Yes, because that makes it so much better, _Perseus_' Artemis hissed out, moving fully into the light. He bit back a gasp as the moonlight illuminated her form; she seemed to be glowing from within with an ethereal light that made her already astonishingly beautiful features completely mindblowing. With an effort he wrenched his mind back to the moment. 'We were friends, Perseus, best friends, and you expect that a simple sorry after running away for over ten years with nothing but a note as an apology is somehow going to make everything go away?' she demanded.

'I would never suggest that' he replied calmly. 'And to answer your question, I intend to remain here for a while, Artemis. Also…for what it's worth, I am sorry.'

'That's _Lady_ Artemis to you, _boy_. And I suppose you think that a simple sorry makes everything alright now, does it?' she sneered. 'How wonderful for you, yo-you've been _gallivanting_ about the world without a single thought about anybody you left behind-'

_That's not true, I think about you constantly_, his mind protested, though he didn't voice this out loud.

'- while everyone here worried about you; and we're not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Percy Jackson thinks it's a perfectly OK thing to do!' she shrieked.

Having drifted partway into his mind palace whilst she was ranting at him, Percy, unluckily for him, reverted to a combination of his default responses whenever he wasn't paying attention, 'Yes, I agree with you completely. Whatever you say. Yes. Great.'

Artemis howled and jumped on top of him, punching him in the face. 'You – you _infuriate_ me, Percy Jackson!' she screamed as she landed blow after blow to the demigod's body; his body started shaking like a ragdoll as she pummelled him incessantly, blood flying all over across the hallway as she systematically broke his arms, legs and he thought he even felt a few ribs give way as she continued punching. Being the war hardened veteran he was, though, he shook off the pain near unconsciously.

Spitting out a glob of blood, he tilted his head and asked her in that infuriatingly and innocently curious way, 'I said I'm sorry, is that what you're supposed to do?'

Artemis shrieked and punched him one more time before storming out in high dudgeon. Percy blinked. 'I think she's mad at me' he said to nobody in particular before focusing his attention to his body; _cracked two – no, three ribs, heavy bruising spanning the entirety of torso, broken left arm…I got off lightly_, he decided. _Well, comparatively, anyway…_ With but a thought, his injuries rapidly began to disappear as he cast a healing spell on himself, leaving behind a hungry and tired, but no longer battered Percy Jackson.

As Artemis strode away from the hallway, she found her resolve to walk away from the man she had just beaten to a pulp faltering; eventually, she came to a complete halt as she sensed his life force dip sharply. She let out a sigh of something that was most definitely not relief as she realised he hadn't died, merely expended a large chunk of energy healing himself. She stifled a flinch as his body – beaten black and blue by her own hands – came to the forefront of her mind. _This would be so much easier if I hated you_, she thought, slumping slightly against a supporting pillar. After all, she could never truly hate Perseus Jackson, no matter how much she tried to convince herself of that.

* * *

-Percy's new apartment, Christmas Eve-

Percy's eyes widened in surprise as the other Heroes of Olympus, along with Nico and Reyna filed inside his apartment. 'Not that I'm not pleased to see you all again, but why are you here?' he demanded.

'Housewarming party' they chorused. _Oh dear lord_, Percy sighed to himself.

Against his better judgement, he let them in: 'Come in.'

'Big place' Reyna smiled at him.

'Yes' he said dryly. 'John!,' he called out, 'we have guests!'. Clapping his hands, Percy summoned up some refreshments for his guests: tea, biscuits and a chocolate cake. _Entertaining guests is so boring John, come down already_, he grumbled. _Coming, coming_, John sighed.

'You've already met briefly, but again, this is Doctor John Watson, my partner in solving crimes' he introduced once John had made it downstairs. 'John, this is Jason Grace…'

* * *

-A few hours later-

Once the initial introductions were over and done with, Percy had 'Portkeyed' himself to Baker St and back, bringing back several bottles of wine and champagne gifted to him by previous clients that he had never drank. _Nothing like some alcohol to grease bonding_. He grinned as he heard the doorbell ring – _that must be Molly,_ he exulted. He bounded eagerly to the door, swinging it open eagerly and hugging the women at the door breathlessly. He blinked. _Wait, women, plural?_ As he released them and stepped back, his eyes narrowed as his eyes meet deep pools of molten silver set into an equally shocked face. As the male demigod and the goddess stood there staring at each other awkwardly, the other woman cleared her throat. 'It's nice to see you too, Percy' Thalia said teasingly. 'Do you hand out hugs to everyone now, or are we the only ones?'

Percy continued staring back at the goddess in surprise for a few more seconds, before stepping aside. 'Do come in' he invited, eyes still fixed upon the silver orbs that had captured him over ten years ago.

'This isn't a social-' Thalia started before craning her neck to look inside. 'Housewarming party?'

'Under duress, I assure you. Want some food?'

'Don't mind if I do' Thalia smiled and stepped inside, not-so-gently patting her cousin's shoulder as she left him alone with her mistress.

'So,' Percy said dryly, 'might I know what brings the great Lady Artemis to my humble doorstep?'

'My father wishes for me to inform you that for the duration of your…employment…with us, you will be accompanying my Hunters, to train and guard them, as soon as you conclude your…business here in New York. You are to go to Camp Half-Blood, where my Hunters are based for now' Artemis scowled.

Percy blinked. Then he said, 'Is he high?'

'Quite possibly, believe me, this isn't what I wanted either' she snarked. _Because despite everything, I still care about you, you infuriating man, and I don't think that my hunters would be particularly welcoming towards you_…_especially after the way you left_.

He tilted his head to the side and examined her for a few moments before sweeping his arm behind him. 'Won't you come in?' he asked. 'Thalia seems like she'll be here a while.'

The silver eyed goddess hesitated a few moments before giving him a sharp nod and entering. She found Thalia drinking wine and clinking glasses with the other Heroes of Olympus, lounging back comfortably. For a brief moment, as she glanced at Jason and Piper, she felt a surge of longing for a semblance of that kind of companionship – close as she was to the Hunters, she was ultimately their patron goddess, and whilst she considered them her daughters, she wanted_, needed_, someone capable and willing to challenge her. Then she remembered Orion's betrayal of her, and buried that yearning once more.

* * *

Molly Hooper smiled brightly and hugged her best friend. She stepped back a little to take him in; he seemed a little paler than when she had least seen him, yet he seemed also to have…_calmed_, for lack of a better word, more at peace with himself. Percy smiled down at her genuinely and stood aside to let her in. As the two of them entered the living room, Percy clapped his hands sharply; almost immediately, his guests turned to look at their host, so quickly that he feared for a moment that they might have gotten whiplash. 'Everyone, this is Dr Molly Hooper, a close friend of mine from my days at Oxford' he introduced. 'Molly, this is everyone' he winked, grinning slightly as she poked him in the ribs.

As Molly and Percy began their good-natured bickering, Artemis felt something unfamiliar stirring within her gut, seething inside her as she noticed how close they were, the way that the two of them seamlessly engaged each other, though her instinct told her that they were merely platonic friends. Why did the room suddenly seem so suffocatingly small? Feeling like she needed some air, she was about to move to the hallway when she heard a low moan. 'Don't worry, that was my phone' Percy called out. Artemis' eyes widened as she put the pieces together. _Perseus…has a girlfriend?_ Why did the thought bother her so much? She felt like an invisible icy fist had just reached out and clenched on her heart; every pounding heartbeat felt laboured, painful. Why was she feeling this way?

* * *

**Mantelpiece. Merry Christmas, Mr Holmes. One last challenge, from one intellectual to another. **

The words reverberated about his skull as Percy moved towards the fireplace, reaching out for the small gift box wrapped in plain wrapping paper – how had he not noticed it before? His nimble fingers deftly stripped the wrapping from the box, revealing Adler's phone – the same phone he briefly held in London, he realised with a frown. _Ms Adler didn't reveal much, but from what I could tell, she most definitely wouldn't have just given it away voluntarily…_unless it no longer mattered. He felt a wave of overwhelming sadness steal over him as he bowed his head, perhaps the faintest of tears prickling in his eyes, a tribute to one of the worthiest adversaries he had ever had. _If you had just been a little faster, you could have caught her, saved her_, his mind whispered.

'Molly' he called out. 'Perchance, did you positively identify a woman in the morgue today…as one Ms Irene Adler?'

'Yes, how did you know?' she asked him. _DNA records can be altered_, his mind whispered. _They're only as good as the record keepers after all…_

'What was the state of the body?' he asked her intently.

'Her body was covered in third and fourth degree burns' she shrugged. 'That house that burned down near your mother's place– she was found there.'

_Your fault, your fault…_ his mind jeered. _You could have saved her, if only you had moved faster…_

'I see,' he muttered, striding back to his bedroom , 'excuse me, I'm not feeling very well'. The moment he was in his room, he pulled out his violin and began strumming it; its mournful strains soon began to fill the air.

'Was this Irene his girlfriend?' Artemis inquired, glancing up at his room worriedly. The two of them might be somewhat estranged at the moment, but she remembered – all too vividly – the way he had looked after Chase's betrayal – the lively spark that had once been in his eyes had become _muted_, no longer quite as bright, and it tore her apart to know that it might never be the way it had once been again.

'I don't know' John admitted, shrugging. At a pointed glance from practically everyone else in the room, he added, 'It's Percy. How will we ever know what goes on in his head?'. Artemis hesitated and glanced upwards again, yearning to talk him about it, yet at the same time, still angry with him over the way he had left that day over a decade ago. Eventually, she turned her face away and focused on the – now slightly subdued – party.

* * *

-Costco-

Just as John was starting to move towards the exit, he found himself accosted by a beautiful red haired woman. 'John?' she called out. 'John Watson?'

'Yes, that's me' he replied, casually admiring her form even as he raised his hackles – _barely anyone here should know my real name_,_ how does she know who I am, how? Even on the blog my face is mostly obscured, so they shouldn't recognise me through that…_; unconsciously, he inhaled her perfume – _just like Irene Adler's_, his mind commented. His eyes widened and he looked at her again closely. 'Y-you're supposed to be dead' he croaked out in surprise. 'Tell Sherlock you're alive' he demanded.

'I can't, then he'd come after me' the now red haired Irene Adler shook her head, full red lips curling into a condescending smile.

'_I'll_ come after you if you don't tell him' he threatened, subtly taking a step closer.

Adler raised her hands placatingly and said, almost pleadingly, 'Look, I made a mistake Doctor Watson. I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping, and now I need it back. This is for his protection; a lot of people are hunting for it.'

'Tell him you're alive' John insisted.

'I can't' she said softly. 'I mean, what do I say?'

'What do you _normally_ say?,' John hissed out, 'You've texted him a _lot_.'

'Just the usual stuff' she shrugged, a little taken aback by his vehemence. She started reading from her phone, '"Good morning"; "I like your funny hat"; "I'm sad tonight. Let's have dinner"… "You looked sexy on 'Crimewatch'. Let's have dinner"; "I'm not hungry, let's have dinner".'

John felt his jaw dropping. 'Y-you…._flirted_ with _Sherlock Holmes_?' he gaped.

'_At_ him. He never replies. Anyway….there. "I'm not dead. Let's have dinner."' Irene replied.

* * *

-Central Park-

**I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.**

The words floated up at him from the screen mockingly. Percy grinned fiercely as he read the message. _The game is on_. _So, that woman trapped in the burning house – it wasn't Ms Adler…this still doesn't answer why those Cyclopes would have been sent to kill her…_His eyes widened slightly as he saw the time – he was due to meet his mother in just five minutes. The demigod started sprinting; generally he wouldn't have cared about being a few minutes late, but this was his _mother_ after all. As he skidded to a halt outside his door, and began reaching for his keys, his eyes were drawn almost instantly to the scratches on the door – _vaguely reminiscent of a boot print, signs of forced entry since I left, mum is in danger, I can faintly smell her perfume which means she was just here, they must have intercepted her. _After he opened the door, his ears could just faintly pick up the sounds of sobbing; his eyes darkened into whirling eddies that promised a fate worse than Tartarus to whoever had made his mother cry.

As he stepped into the living room, he was dumbstruck by the man standing behind his seated mother, holding a gun to her head. _Isn't he the same agent at Ms Adler's house?_ _If he is here, surely there must be more agents somewhere?_ Yet, even when he exerted every one of his senses, he could only detect the one agent in front of him. 'It's nice to meet you again, Mr Holmes' the agent said.

'I wish I could say the same.'

'I've been asking this one for what we want. She doesn't seem to know anything. But you know what I'm asking for, don't you Mr Holmes?'

Percy ignored him and padded his way across the room slowly, until he was right in front of his whimpering mother, bending over to inspect her – _slight bloodstains on fingernails, fought back against assailant so it goes without saying then that he must have attacked her_ –_ he dies._ He then transferred his gaze to the other man in the room, mentally picking out lethal target points on his body – _carotid artery, jugular, skull, eyes, lungs._ Slowly he straightened up and looked the soon-to-be-dead-man in the eyes. 'I believe I do,' he said, 'but first you can stop pointing that gun at her.'

'So you can point a gun at me?'

'I'm unarmed.'

'Mind if I check?'

'Oh, I _insist._'

The moment that the man started patting him down, Percy kneed him in the face and smashed his head into the floor. 'Moron' he scoffed. He hurried over to his mum, gently stroking her face in a soothing fashion, desperately asking, 'Are you alright?'

'I-I'm fine' she said shakily, throwing her arms around him. Percy nodded in relief and flicked his gaze back to the man he had just knocked out, face still promising murder.

* * *

-Costco-

As Adler slunk off, John picked up his bags and started to move towards the exit again. As he rejoined the sea of people that always seemed to be swarming around in the Big Apple, he felt something – just faintly – tickling at the edges of his consciousness, as if asking permission to enter his head. _Doesn't feel like Percy, but then if they were hostile, they wouldn't exactly be asking permission, now would they…_ John lowered his mental barriers just a tad.

_Doctor Watson_, Artemis' voice rang through his head. _I would like to speak with you about a mutual friend of ours_. _Is that a request or an order?, _John sent back.

'A request' the goddess said curtly, suddenly appearing in front of him; John was thankful for the Mist because otherwise he was sure that the mortals around them would have run away screaming in terror of an alien invasion.

'What do you want to know?' he asked as he glanced around to reorientate himself, then started moving back towards his and Percy's new house. He waited patiently in the ensuing silence as the two of them walked together; Artemis seemed to be thinking something over, making to open her mouth several times before clamping it shut.

As they stood in front of Percy's new house, she caught his arm and looked him directly in the eye. 'What happened to make Perseus so…cold?' she asked him, in what could almost have been concern.

'I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss this – if he wishes for you to know then he will tell you' John said. 'I will not cheapen myself and betray his trust by telling you, or your compatriots who have demanded the same thing from me. Now if that's all…' he said and turned away, before pausing at the note on the door.

**Crime in progress. ****Please disturb**.

'Wait!' he called out, ripping off the piece of paper and showing it to her. 'I might need your assistance' he said, promptly before he dropped his shopping bags, kicked down the door, and charged in, already pulling out his gun and baton. He rolled into the living room, aiming his gun at…a completely deadpan Percy and his mother, and some man hogtied to a chair. 'Well, this is embarrassing' he said, grinning wryly as he pocketed his weapons. 'W-what happened?'

'My mother was attacked by a lone CIA agent, I'm restoring balance to the universe' the other demigod said – as he vaguely flapped his hand in the direction of said CIA agent, John noticed that the fingers of his hands were faintly tinged with the red of blood. Percy's fingers reached into his pocket and he was just in the process of calling the NYPD when he saw Artemis loitering in the hallway with, presumably, John's shopping bags. He desperately wanted to reach out and talk to her, but then he was put through, and the moment was lost. 'Captain Thomas Gregson?' he said into the speaker. 'This is Sherlock Holmes, consultant for the NYPD for several years now. I'd like to report a break-in at my new home, which is on my file. Please send your least irritating officers and an ambulance. What? Oh, no, no, no I'm fine. No, um, it's the burglar' he said with a trace of faux-regret as he looked directly at said 'burglar', who was now squirming under his deadly gaze. 'I'm afraid he's rather badly injured…oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull ... suspected punctured lung. Hmmm? Oh, he fell out of a window.'

'What are you doing here?' Percy said to Artemis abruptly as the police left and John started treating Sally in his room – the first words he had spoken to her in the half hour she had been in his house.

_Why can't I just be worried about you?_, she wondered to herself. _I might be angry with you, I might _kill_ you, but that doesn't mean I don't worry about you_. 'My father's patience is wearing thin' she said to him out loud. 'He expects that your other business here in New York will be completed soon, or…' she trailed off as she saw the murderous gleam in Percy's swirling sea green eyes. Involuntarily, she took half a step back as his eyes continued to darken.

'Tell him that I will finish my business here when it is finished' he said in the ensuing silence.

The goddess held his gaze and stepped closer, trying to ignore the trembling that threatened to ripple through her body. She reached out and touched his arm tentatively, and said softly, 'Perseus…'

'I believe we're done here, _Lady_ Artemis' he said tonelessly. 'Allow me to show you-' he stopped as he glanced at her neck – on it, dangled a familiar gold band; the same band he had once hoped to use to propose to Chase. 'I-I see you kept it' he motioned, reality already dimming as his mind leapt back to their last meeting over a decade ago.

* * *

'_Percy!' Artemis said, smiling brightly at her patient-friend-colleague._

'_Artemis' he greeted placidly. _

'_Apollo told me that he feels you're fairly stable, so we won't need to meet anymore…'Artemis said, pausing as she noticed the expression on Percy's face. 'Is there something you want to tell me?'_

'_Y-yeah' he said, flushing slightly as he looked down at his hands, which were clutching a small box. 'I – as you know, before we found out about…her betrayal, I-I was planning to propose to her' he said eventually. 'Well, that's not exactly an option now,' he shrugged and grinned macabrely, passing her the box, 'I-I want you to have it.'_

_Her eyes widened in surprise. Was he…._proposing to her_?_

'_I-I'm not proposing or anything' he said in embarrassment, face flushed pink even more than before, not quite looking her in the eyes. 'J-just consider it…a token of our friendship.'_

_Artemis blinked and flushed herself as she looked down at the ring. 'I- I would be honoured' she said eventually, holding his hand reassuringly for a few moments before she pocketed the box. _

* * *

'We meet again, Mr Holmes' an unfamiliar voice interrupted before she could say anything; Percy froze up and slowly turned to meet the amused dark eyes of Irene Adler, attired in a beautiful black dress, fully made up, hair perfectly coiffured. The Woman at her immaculate best.

'What do you want?' he demanded, waving a hand at Artemis. 'I'm a bit busy here.'

'I need my phone back' Irene said calmly.

'Hmmm, no, go away, you don't interest me at the moment Woman' he said dryly, already turning back to face Artemis.

'Oh, I think you'll want to hear this…Perseus Jackson…Lady Artemis' she said sweetly. Percy froze. _She's most certainly not a demigod, or a legacy for that matter, not a single drop of ichor inside her, but she is clearly aware of the mythological world; this opens up the possibility that it was in fact _she_ who contacted those Cyclopes, perhaps through an intermediary, to destroy her house and fake her death…at the same time, the fact that she later sent her phone to me would seem to indicate that she has someone hunting her, someone so fearsome that she believed that she would die; she doesn't look like a person given to be making emotional decisions – so, perhaps she must have convinced them to back off, most likely with some files on her phone, explaining why she needs it back. The fact that she knows my name indicates her benefactor would most likely be a demigod…could it be…_Moriarty?

'I'm listening.'

* * *

'So who's after you?' he asked after he had served her some tea and called down John.

'People who want to kill me. I _need_ that phone back, Mr Holmes.'

'I haven't finished with it quite yet.'

'I wasn't asking' she said, her voice hardening into steel. He shrugged, and threw it to her from his pocket. Adler inspected it and threw it away. 'That phone is my life, Mr Holmes, I know when it's in my hands.'

'Oh, you're rather good' Percy admired.

'You're not so bad' she said in reply huskily, dark brown eyes meeting sea green orbs.

Artemis felt a growl building up inside her as they continued staring at each other, and was just about to release it when John suddenly said, 'Hamish!'

'Sorry, I don't understand' said Percy.

'My middle name – if you were looking for baby names' the doctor said. Artemis sensed the same unfamiliar feeling as she had at Christmas again, surging forward with a vengeance. Percy blinked in confusion and passed her the real phone, though not before asking, 'What do you keep on there?'

'On this phone, I've got secrets that could topple the entire mortal world' she smiled. She passed the phone back to him. 'I know a man – a US government official, and I knew what he liked – one thing he liked particularly was showing off. He told me that this was going to save the world; he didn't know it then but I took a photo of it. It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it?'

'Yes.'

'A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it – though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out. What can _you_ do, Perseus Jackson?' she breathed into his ear. 'Go on. Impress a girl.'

At this point, Artemis' hands were clenched tightly into fists; she suspected that had it not been for Percy's complete obliviousness to her advances, she would have blasted Adler several minutes ago. _I still might_, she thought darkly. As she glanced around the room, she realised it seemed too small, too suffocating. _I need to get out_, she decided. Artemis nodded at John. 'It's been a pleasure, Doctor Watson' she said curtly as she stood to leave. 'It seems though that I'll have to finish my conversation with Perseus another time.'

As Artemis left, Percy's head shot up, and he started speaking rapidly, 'There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure there's a Boeing Seven Forty-Seven leaving JFK tomorrow at six thirty in the evening. Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I've only been on the case for eight seconds.'

Irene and John exchanged shocked glances, even as Percy passed the phone to his doctor. _Let's see what you make of it_, Percy gestured. John sighed and took in the letters and numbers floating on the screen.

**007 Confirmed allocation**

**4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K**

After a few minutes had passed, John finally looked up, catching Percy's eye. 'Got it' he announced. He took in a deep breath and launched right into his explanation: 'There's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1'; no letters past 'K' – the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place – families and couples sitting together. Only a jumbo is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past fifty-five, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Assuming an American point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is a flight from JFK at six thirty in the evening.'

Percy stood up and nodded at Adler as he said, 'Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. I'm fairly certain John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language.'

'I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice' Irene smiled, taking a step closer towards the taller consulting detective.

'I've never begged for mercy in my life.'

'Twice' Irene Adler smirked. As Percy moved away, she began typing blind on her phone.

* * *

Jim Moriarty raised an eyebrow as he read the text he had just received:

**747 tomorrow 6:30PM JFK**

He grinned to himself. _Ms Adler came through_. He started typing a message to the elder Holmes – _how disappointed would he be with his younger 'brother'?_, he wondered, and giggled.

**Jumbo jet. Dear me, Mr Holmes, dear me.**

* * *

**-**Percy's New York residence, during the evening**-**

John had just departed to escort Sally back to her apartment when Irene slipped close to Percy, smiling at him invitingly. 'Have you ever had anyone?' she asked him directly. 'And when I say "had", I mean it in an indelicate way.'

'I don't understand.'

'Well, I'll be delicate then' Irene shrugged, coming even closer towards him; as she adopted a kneeling position in front of him, she reached out and put her hand on top of his. 'Let's have dinner.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'That's good, because I'm not either' she breathed into his ear.

Hesitantly, Percy leaned forward and turned his hand over, subtly curling his fingers around her wrist. 'Why would I want to have dinner…if I wasn't hungry?' he stalled as his synapses started to fire. _Elevated pulse, dilated pupils, slight flush to cheeks, arched back to accentuate…feminine assets…licking and biting lips to accentuate them as well…clear signs of sexual attraction_ he noted clinically.

'Oh, Perseus Jackson…,' she sighed, eyes fixed entirely on his face, '…if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?'

What Percy might have said in reply, he would never know, because right after she said that, someone started knocking – banging, really – insistently on the front door. 'Sherlock!' they called out. 'Sherlock!'

Irked, Irene moved out of the way and let Percy pass to the entrance hallway; from the small peephole set into the door, he could make out Lestrade along with Anderson and Donovan. 'What are you doing here?' he demanded as he opened the door. 'Aren't you supposed to be trying to solve crimes back in London?'

'We were sent by your brother' Lestrade cut in before Anderson and Donovan could say anything. 'He-'

'So you're my – my handler, now, or something?' he scoffed. 'Tell Mycroft that as much as I _appreciate_ his concern, he really shouldn't be wasting national resources on little old me. Good eveni-'

'He said to give this to you, and to meet him at JFK' Lestrade interrupted, passing him an envelope. Curious, Percy tore it open, blinking as he saw its contents – an economy boarding pass for Flyaway Airlines in the name of Sherlock Holmes. As he continued scanning, more details leapt out at him – it was for the very same flight that he had given Irene Adler just a few hours earlier. Curious and curiouser.

'Very well' he said finally.

* * *

-JFK International Airport-

Percy raised an eyebrow as he saw the corpses seated inside the plane. His mind started firing away immediately: _why are there corpses on a flight? Obviously, it's because the USA wishes for certain parties to believe that there are real, live people on this flight, but why, why?_ Unbidden, his mind leapt back to his journey from his house to the airport; he could vaguely recall that in the distance was the World Trade Centre..._ah, I see, terrorist hijacking? No, they would notice that the passengers are corpses instantly…so a bomb then, exploding during flight._

'Conventry' Mycroft said from behind him. 'Neat, don't you think?'

'How's the plane going to fly?' Percy wondered, before immediately answering his own question: 'of course, unmanned aircraft, hardly new.'

'I'm afraid, Sherlock, that it is _never_ going to fly' Mycroft said casually. 'This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished.'

'The US government official.'

'That's all it takes,' Mycroft smiled humourlessly, 'one lonely man desperate for company, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special.'

'I suppose the US should vet their officials more thoroughly then.'

'I'm not talking about that man Sherlock, I'm talking about _you_' Mycroft said loudly – furiously, even. Percy took a step back – never in all the years that he had known Mycroft Holmes had he seen Mycroft so unhinged.

'I-I don't understand,'

'Don't you? This was _textbook_… the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle…and watch him dance.'

'Don't be absurd' Percy spat out. 'I am not given to outbursts of sentiment.'

'Aren't you? What do you call getting back into contact with _them_ Sherlock?'

'I had no choice' Percy growled out. _Since he knows that I have re-established contact with the gods, it goes without saying then that he was monitoring me since I left for New York – Lestrade is probably my handler given his special forces background prior to joining Scotland Yard…I'm not sure where Anderson and Donovan come in though._

'And if you aren't given to outbursts of sentiment, brother dear, then do tell me this: How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it even a full minute, or were you _really_ eager to impress?'

'I think it was less than five seconds' Irene Adler called out, casually leaning against a seat; the Holmes brothers had been so embroiled in their argument, they hadn't even noticed The Woman sneak in.

'I drove you into her path. I'm sorry' Mycroft said to Percy eventually. 'I didn't know.'

'I believe we have things to discuss, Mr Holmes' Adler said coolly.

'So do I' Percy said in reply.

'Not you, junior, I'm done playing with you now' she dismissed, holding up her phone for Mycroft's inspection. 'There's more…so much more. On this phone I have collected secrets that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless, of course, you want to tell your superiors that your biggest security leak is your own little brother.'

* * *

-British Consulate General, New York-

Irene smiled at Mycroft Holmes across the very literal negotiating table, her camera phone twinkling at Mycroft mockingly from the tabletop. After several minutes of silence, Mycroft pointed to the phone. He said, 'We have people who can get into this and extract the files.'

'I tested that for you; I gave it to the great Sherlock Holmes for Christmas' Irene dismissed, shaking her head in mock sadness. 'Or…perhaps I should call him Perseus Jackson?' she smiled, grin only widening as she took in Mycroft's shock. 'Percy, dear, do tell him what you found when you inspected my phone.'

'There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive – more likely to be explosive.'

'Some data is already recoverable' Mycroft tried, whilst at the same time he beamed at Percy, _brother dear, surely you have some way out of this?_

_Working on it_, Percy sent back, _just stall and keep her talking_.

'Do you really want to take that risk?'

'You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you.'

'Percy?'

'There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt.'

'He makes a rather good pet, doesn't he? I should keep him on a leash – in fact, I just _might_' Irene giggled, gazing at him intensely. Too intensely, Percy released. The gears of his mind began spinning faster than ever. Surely not. And yet…her gaze…perhaps…

'We destroy this, then _no one _has the information' Mycroft said.

'Oh, I wouldn't do that…especially with the lives of British citizens at stake.'

'_Are_ they?'

'Telling you would be playing fair; I'm not playing now' Adler smiled. Reaching into her handbag, she slid out a sheet of paper across the table to Mycroft. 'A list of my…requests, and some ideas about my protection once they've been granted' she said, motioning to the document.

'You've been…very thorough' Mycroft complimented reluctantly. 'I wish our people were half as good as you'. _Perseus, you better have some way to get us out of this mess_, he added.

'Oh, I can't take all of the credit' she admitted. 'By the way, Jim Moriarty sends his love' Irene said, jerking her head at Percy. _I see, I am now quite sure of the fact that she contacted Moriarty to fake her death; he sent the Cyclopes towards her residence, possibly with a hostage to act as Adler's stand-in, switching any records that would be used to identify her 'corpse' with the soon-to-be-deceased; this little performance was how the two of them convinced almost everyone that she was dead, ending my pursuit of her; however, someone must have discovered she was still alive and tried to hunt her down – that's why she engineered this entire situation, she wanted protection from whoever's hunting her! Since she seems to know about my real name, it's not too far of a stretch to assume that she also knows about my demigod status – in fact, I'm certain of it; she thus probably also knows information about Moriarty, perhaps even Chase, who is almost certainly the person who informed him about me in the first place, as she is one of the very few people who even calls me that stupid nickname…I need to leverage this situation._

'He gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys…do you know what he calls you?' Adler continued. 'The Iceman…' she pointed at Mycroft, '…and The Virgin. He didn't even ask for anything; I think he just likes to cause trouble - now _that's_ my kind of man.'

'And here you are: the dominatrix who brought the United Kingdom to its knees. Nicely played' Mycroft rumbled. _Perseus, whatever it is you're thinking about, hurry up now!_ his 'brother' commanded.

'No' Percy said suddenly, as everything fell into place in his mind; why she had kept making advances towards him, why she had seemed amused, yet almost disappointed at his inability to unlock her phone.

'Sorry?' she asked, flashing him a patronising smile.

'I said no. Very, very close, but no – you got carried away; your game was too elaborate – you were enjoying yourself too much.'

'There's no such thing as _too _much.'

'Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathise entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.'

'Sentiment? What are you talking about?'

'_You_.'

Adler flashed him another condescending smile as she said, 'Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?'

Percy grinned right back at her – at least, he claimed it was a grin, it was more like a wolf baring its teeth at its prey before it lunged in for the kill. He moved closer to her, fingers delicately curling around her wrist as he leaned in towards her ear. 'No…' he whispered. 'Because _I took your pulse_. Elevated; your pupils dilated'. Reaching over to pluck her phone from the table, he continued a little more loudly, 'I imagine that people think love's a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive. I read somewhere that disguise is always a self-portrait – how true of _you_, the combination to your safe, your measurements, but _this_' he held up the phone, '_this_ is far more intimate. This is your heart…'

His fingers danced across the screen. The familiar mocking security lock screen lit up; **I AM - - - - LOCKED**

He punched in the first character. '…and you should _never _let it rule your head' he continued. 'You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for…'

He punched in the second character, sea green oceans now entirely fixed upon her own dark pools; her breathing grew a little heavier as she realised that he _knew_.

'…but you just couldn't resist it, could you? For a very long time now, I've assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage…'

The third character; tears seemed to be coming to her eyes.

'Thank you for the final proof.'

As he made to add the final character, she seized his hand desperately and took a step closer, looking at him pleadingly.

'Everything I said – it wasn't real' she told him. 'I was just playing the game' she whispered.

'I _know_' he whispered back, leaning in towards her ear again; 'And this is just losing' he breathed out. Gently pulling his hand out of her grasp, he put in the fourth and final character, and turned the screen towards her:

**I AM S-H-E-R-LOCKED**

Irene Adler could do nothing but look on in despair as he passed the phone to his brother with a brief apologetic murmur. As Percy made to leave, he tossed over his shoulder, 'If you're feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. She won't survive long without her protection.'

'Are you expecting me to beg?'

'No, Ms Adler. I expect you to die' he said, as he began to stride out – _always did want to say that _– then paused in the doorway. 'Sorry about dinner.'

* * *

-That night, New York Harbour-

Irene Adler hurried to the cargo ship – not exactly glamorous, but when someone was on the run from the people she was, speed was of the essence. As she set foot onto the deck, she caught sight of two men lounging about – her smugglers, presumably. As she reached into her handbag to pay them, they suddenly moved and attacked her, knocking her to the ground.

When Adler finally came to, she found her legs tied to a plastic chair, staring down two gun barrels. 'Any last requests?' a gunman demanded in a thick accent. 'Personally, I would have just shot you, but our leader insists on allowing people last requests.'

'A – a text message, please' Irene said after a moment, resigned to her fate. She smiled as she thought of Perseus Jackson, the one man who had ever managed to completely captivate her. **Goodbye, Mr Holmes**, she typed and sent. She stared straight ahead, eyes open; she didn't want to give them the satisfaction of closing her eyes. Her eyes widened as she heard a low, orgasmic sigh. _The ringtone she had set on Percy Jackson's phone after she had knocked him out in London_, she realised. _But why was he here? _Her question was answered when her captors suddenly slumped over from blows to the back of their heads, and she found herself staring at two impossibly deep green eyes.

'Tell me everything you know, about the man named Jim Moriarty, and the woman named Annabeth Chase. In return, I will give you protection and sanctuary' he demanded. 'That's the price of your life.'

Her eyes widened. _If he finds out, he will definitely hunt me down personally…but if I don't, then I will most certainly die here, and this man is not the kind that will make this offer again._ Irene Adler nodded to herself, and made her decision.

**Response to reviews:**

**Guest- Perhaps Moriarty is, perhaps he is not :). You'll just have to wait and see!**

**Guest, Paura Nightshade- I feel rather flattered, I shall do my best do not let you all down!**

**Author's note: I changed my mind and decided to collide Percy and the mythical world together one chapter earlier; I felt it best to do this sooner than I had planned due to - well, you don't need to know about that just yet! :P**

**Many thanks to readers for their ongoing support of this work, and hopefully within the week another chapter of The Rise of the Consultant Hero will be posted (going through writer's block at the moment, but it will pass). As ever, suggestions for canon cases would be greatly appreciated, I'm going to need three or four quite soon, so if there's any Sherlock Holmes story by Doyle that you would particularly wish to see adapted (excluding the ones mentioned in chapter 3 or 4, I forget which one it was), please leave a review stating the story - or send me a PM. I am also still looking for a beta reader; please PM me if you are interested :). In concluding, please read and review, and tell me what you thought of this chapter :). **

**Ever yours, **

**ApocalypticPhoenix**


	7. Silver Blaze

Disclaimer: Same as Chapter 1

Chapter 7: Silver Blaze

-Percy's New York residence-

Percy scowled up at the ceiling from his face up position on the sofa, mind racing as he put together the information he got from Adler: she had apparently never heard of Annabeth Chase in her entire life, but the information that she did manage to give him about Moriarty was quite invaluable: he knew a little more about the man's powers and abilities, and she had given him hints – just hints, as to the extent of his criminal network, as well as the identities of some of his key lieutenants. He flipped open his laptop and started typing.

* * *

-Camp Half-Blood-

Percy raised an eyebrow as he and John continued to remain completely undetected by the 'Hunters' of Artemis. 'Not very skilled Hunters if they can't even detect us from here' he commented to his companion.

'Give them some credit Percy, they've been in peace for over a decade before the monsters started stirring again' John defended, playing devil's advocate.

'Hmmm, no. They're supposed to be the equivalent of special forces for Olympus – all I see right now, are five incompetents and a slightly competent lieutenant. Even their leader barely seems to detect us – I can see her squinting at our general vicinity here right now, but she most definitely does not know our exact location.'

'Could you talk a little quieter? My ears are still ringing' John pleaded.

'NOT REALLY!' Percy shouted, and rose up from their cover in the underbrush.

Artemis' eyes narrowed as she checked the time; at about nine o'clock in the morning, Perseus Jackson was deliberately, obstinately late by half an hour. She refused to play his game though – she was a goddess, damn it, she had her pride at stake! She relaxed slightly as she finally saw him and his partner rise over Half-Blood Hill, before storming over and punching him in the face. 'When I say get here at eight thirty, I _mean_ get here at eight thirty, not wait there for half an hour' she said to the man who was now sprawled in the dirt.

'I agree with you' he said amiably, completely unfazed by her hostility.

She clenched her jaw and turned her back on him towards her Hunters. 'Girls, these two are assigned by Lord Zeus to be your trainers…and guardians' she said reluctantly. 'You are to treat them with the respect that they deserve-'

'By which you mean, annoying, pranking, and probably grievously injuring the two of us' Percy interrupted, suddenly whirling and pointing at a Hunter, seemingly at random. 'Did you know that one there is a heavy smoker? Clear signs; nicotine stains, shaking fingers – I'd keep an eye on her if I were you-'

'Shut up Percy, my ears are still ringing' John moaned, rubbing his ears gingerly.

'Shouldn't have been drinking on a night before a big job like this!' Percy exclaimed, making his partner glare at him mournfully, eventually turning away.

'With respect, milady…they're to be our guardians? Are you joking?' a hunter – Phoebe – demanded. 'H-he's the person who abandoned us in our hours of need, a-and you expect us to simply accept him back just like that? What proof do we even have that he can fight after all this time?' she sneered. 'I'm sure that his abilities have seen great use in hunting down mortal criminals.'

'Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?' Percy yawned.

Phoebe and the other Hunters glowered at him for a few seconds before turning their attention to Artemis pleadingly. 'Milady, I want proof that this – this _man_ is capable of being our…guardian' she spat out.

Artemis palmed her face in exasperation and started walking to the arena, her Hunters following her. After about thirty seconds, she stopped, and turned back; Percy and John were lying on the ground together gazing at the clouds. Her face flaming with fury, she motioned for her Hunters to continue on towards the arena, whilst she stalked over to them in a rage. As she opened her mouth to yell at them again, Percy lazily glanced over at her. 'Do not forget that it is akin to blackmail that you got me to go along with your little group. You had best not forget your place when speaking with me, Artemis. I have no qualms about putting every person that dared to swear loyalty to you into the ICU, here and now. I will destroy this entire camp if I have to' he said mildly as he got to his feet.

Artemis glared at him. 'You do that, and I _will_ kill you' she promised, silver eyes flashing warningly. 'I don't think you want to push me into doing that.'

'Oh, no, _Lady_ Artemis. I don't think _you_ want to push _me_.'

Percy dusted himself off and started moving to the arena; behind him, John looked at the goddess apologetically as her face reddened; he feared she might be having an apoplectic fit. 'Sorry, he's…always like that' he said lamely, before following his friend.

* * *

-Arena-

John watched on as Percy prepared to face off against Phoebe – which was to say, he had his hands thrust deep into coat pockets in a decidedly unimpressed fashion. As the two of them continued staring at each other, Phoebe trembling with nervous excitement, Percy completely still, the male demigod sighed and turned to Artemis, and said, 'I'm sorry, this is boring, could you at least throw in Thalia as well? Judging from the tension in her deltoid muscles I think she could use some stress relief.'

'With pleasure, _Percy_' Thalia said vehemently, happily twirling her spear and summoning Aegis. She frowned as she took her place in front of him. 'You're not going to use your sword?' she asked, surprised that he was still keeping his hands inside his pockets.

'I won't need it' he said simply, and _blurred_. As Thalia began to move forward, drawing her arm back in preparation for a spear thrust, Percy was already right in front of her, lashing out quickly with his leg; Thalia ended up stumbling forward, completely unprepared for the baton that suddenly extended from his hands in a blur of grey, forcing her into the ground. He spun around and flicked out his baton, neatly blocking Phoebe's knife as it descended towards his arm; with a twist of his wrists, he deflected the blade and with one final touch – two rapid kicks to the solar plexus – he sent her staggering to the ground, gasping desperately. 'Dull, boring, predictable' he criticised. He probably would have continued on in this vein for some time, had it not been for a sudden gust of wind – though 'gust' was far too mild a word; it struck Percy like a hammer, sending him flying backward a few metres. As Percy blinked away the tears that had sprung into his eyes after he had hit the ground, he made out Thalia advancing upon him again – _she really has gotten better over time, but _– 'Not good enough' he commented as he rolled to his feet, slipping his baton back into its pocket. For a few brief, tense seconds the two children of the Big Three circled each other in silence – then Percy reached into his coat again and started eating a chocolate bar. Thalia gritted her teeth at his nonchalance. _He just wants to provoke you…_, her mind whispered. She held her stance.

Percy frowned. _I was sure that was going to work…oh well_. As he tossed the chocolate wrapper to the ground, Percy began to _move_. Flicking out his baton again, he smashed it into the shaft of his opponent's spear as she thrust it forward; its trajectory was thrown completely off and it stabbed neatly into the ground. Thalia swore and jumped back, reaching to pull out her knife; her fingers only grasping empty air, she was completely unprepared for Percy's leg whipping itself into her side, sending her stumbling backward; a moment later, she had a knife at her throat. 'It's only stress relief if I actually _win_, you know' she told him, careful not to move too much.

'I agree with you' Percy yawned and passed her the knife. 'Satisfied?' he asked Phoebe, still on the ground gasping for breath. She nodded breathlessly. The demigod smiled at her thinly. 'Good, now all of you can follow John and do…whatever it is you're going to do; I'm going to do what I'm going to do. Laters!'

'Why do _I_ get saddled with them?' John asked, disgruntled.

'You're the one who was in the SAS.'

'No, I wasn't.'

'Yes you were.'

'Alright, fine I was' John admitted, as he turned and started issuing orders – which the Hunters surprisingly followed, albeit after a glare from Artemis. As Percy looked around the arena, curious to see what had changed since he had left, he noticed Artemis plant herself directly in his line of sight. 'I'm sorry, could you just stay out of the eyeline?' he asked.

'You're joking, I'm just standing here' she growled out.

'Yes, that's the problem.'

_Is he calling me ugly?_, Artemis wondered, hands clenching tightly into fists. With an effort, she controlled herself, and looked him in the eye. _I can always make him do the chores_, she grinned to herself sadistically. 'Very well,' she agreed amiably, 'but first, I have some chores for you to do once we move to a new campsite; getting firewood, washing clothes, cooking meals-'

'No.'

Artemis gaped at his abject refusal. 'No?' she repeated, eyes flashing. 'You're my servant, you're supposed to obey me!'

'Correction, I'm your guardian, not servant, and even if I was, 'servant' implies I'd be getting paid for doing those chores, which I am not – as you well know, I am being paid to _guard_ and _train_ your, quote, unquote, _Hunters_. If you want slave labour, feel free to run to daddy dearest and demand for someone else – I'm certainly not going to do it, and neither will John. We will fulfil the letter of our agreement – protect and train your Hunters, but we're not going to be your slaves or that of your attendants. '

Having said that, Percy flopped to the ground and started gazing at the clouds. Artemis fumed as she stared at his peaceful face; he was just so, so, _infuriating_! 'You know, if you want I _could_ do it…for a price of course' he told her suddenly. Artemis levelled him with her best glare and stormed out furiously, face reddening with anger even more as she heard his soft laughter. Deep inside though, she was glad he was laughing – she realised with shock that she had missed that carefree mirth that had pervaded her interactions with him all those years ago.

* * *

-Two weeks later, campsite in the middle of nowhere-

'PERSEUS!' Artemis screamed out from outside his tent. Well, on the outside it looked like a tent; inspired by J.K. Rowling, Percy had promptly enchanted the tent so that the inside was bigger than its outward appearance would seem to indicate. Inside were two bedrooms for himself and John, a kitchen, a living room, and several other large rooms for his experiments. Magic truly was amazing. He sighed and opened the tent flap.

'Yes, what is it, no need to shout you know?' he said tetchily. As an afterthought, he added, 'Banshee.'

Artemis glared at him. 'We need to talk. In private. Now. Please' she pleaded, trying her best to avoid looking at him – ever since they had started living in close proximity to each other two weeks ago, she had felt more drawn to him than ever, almost compelled to study him and every one of his habits; it was getting harder and harder for her to distance herself from him. Despite his acerbic nature, and the Hunters' – except for Thalia – clear resentment of him, he had proven to be an excellent instructor; under his and Doctor Watson's tutelage, the Hunters' close combat skills had grown by leaps and bounds. Despite the close contact between the two of them though, their relationship hadn't improved at all – if anything, it had only gotten worse, more distant, perhaps, because of Artemis' resentment of having guardians forced upon her, or perhaps by those acerbic comments that he always had in reserve.

Percy gazed back into her eyes. _Angry, but not at me…pity, she looks adorable when she's angry – no, focus – angry, but at something, or someone else, the fact that she wants me to attend a meeting at Olympus would indicate that it is most likely something serious, possibly interesting…._ 'OK' he said. Straightening up, he looked at her in the eyes. 'What's wrong?'

'Y-you're a consulting detective…' she started.

'Yes, I seem to remember telling your…"Hunters" that when they confused me with the incompetents that are called the police force.'

'Whatever' Artemis dismissed. 'You take private cases then, so – I was wondering if I could retain your services for something…'

_Artemis is proud – very proud, so the fact that she's asking for help means that this is probably something quite serious, especially given our current…differences…but I really need to milk this opportunity…_

'My help?' he asked faux-incredulously. 'You want _my_ help?'

'Y-yes' she ground out through gritted teeth, the sheer admission causing her seemingly tangible pain. _OK, I've had enough fun now_, he decided.

'Have a seat' he invited, plopping himself onto his sofa. Artemis followed him and sat gingerly in an armchair facing him. 'John! We have a case!' he called out. 'I always work on interesting cases with my partner' he explained to her. 'Don't worry, you can trust his discretion – I would stake my life on it.'

'I know' the goddess said simply.

* * *

The two consulting detectives looked at the goddess patiently – or not so patiently, in Percy's case.

'In your own time' John said, smiling at her.

'But quite quickly' Percy added, making John turn to him with a frown that he naturally ignored.

'It's rather embarrassing…' she said slowly. 'I – my –' Artemis flushed and looked down at her lap to recompose herself. Percy frowned. _What could have shaken a goddess up so badly_? 'My…my sacred animal has been stolen' she said suddenly.

'So a deer got stolen. The world must be ending' Percy said dryly. Inwardly, his mind was racing: _who would want to steal a deer – a sacred deer, admittedly, but still, a deer…if I recall correctly from my brief visits to her temple on Olympus, the deer she speaks of is called Silver Blaze, and is, fittingly, silver; clearly, it is very special to her given the fact that it is the only one of her deer that I've seen that is actually silver - the deer drawing her chariot were gold, if I recall correctly..._

'Yes, in fact that is a possibility,' Artemis deadpanned, 'because that deer's theft from my temple – one of the securest on Olympus – proves that Olympus as a whole is not as secure as we would like to believe; with the amounts of monsters stirring these days, security is always a concern. I need you to recover my deer – and of course, discover how the theft happened in the first place. Can I count on your assistance, Perseus?'

'No.'

'S-sorry?' Artemis asked; she was so certain that he would have helped her! If not for the excitement of the case – at least for the money she was planning to pay him.

'I was joking' Percy told her, enjoying the sight as her face reddened in anger again.

'Y-you _annoy_ me, Perseus Jackson!' she ground out as she turned her back on him; involuntarily, her lips twitched as she heard him chuckling gently.

* * *

-Hunters of Artemis Camp-

'How do we know that _this_ man isn't the one behind it?' Phoebe hissed out, jabbing her finger at Percy once Artemis had finished explaining the situation to her Hunters. '_Right after_ he comes back, out of the blue, Silver Blaze goes missing, and we're expected to believe that it's just a _coincidence_?'

'When she,' Percy jerked his head towards Artemis, 'asked you to join the Hunt, did she ask you to be an asset, or just an ass?'. As Phoebe gaped, speechless in sheer anger, he continued, 'I was here when the theft occurred. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get ready to examine the crime scene…do try to engage in more productive thinking, or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world.'

Percy peered down at the field that he was assured Silver Blaze was kept, along with its compatriots, in which no one but Artemis herself was allowed. _Artemis has a fairly large herd of deer, these hoof prints are all over the place…obscuring any traces of the thief's own footprints, as was no doubt their intention from the very beginning…that's a curious scent, I can't remember where I've scented it before…_'I can't get anything from here' he admitted to Artemis reluctantly. 'Too many obscuring animal tracks.'

'The great Sherlock Holmes can't solve this. How shocking' Phoebe muttered to her companions, earning herself glares from John and, surprisingly, Thalia and Artemis. Even more surprising was the fact that Percy completely ignored her without even the slightest of reprisals, in favour of flipping out his treasured magnifier to look at some tracks. _Claw marks, consistent with a dog…or a hell hound_, Percy realised. _How curious…presumably it would have been a guard dog, I don't really see Artemis keeping a dog as a pet…how curious, some blonde hair…only two of the Hunters have blonde hair…from the look on his face, John's reached the same conclusion_. Delicately, Percy used his tweezers to extract the hair strands from the ground, gently placing it within a plastic evidence bag.

'You keep a guard dog – a hellhound, or something similar?' he asked Artemis.

'Yes, I have a hellhound; it was a gift from Hades a while back. I don't see-'

'You _do_ see, you _don't_ observe' Percy and John quoted in unison, smiling slightly at their private joke. Continuing in a more serious tone, he said 'I need to see that hellhound.'

'Sure' Artemis shrugged, whistling for said dog. 'I expect an explanation later though.'

As the hellhound bounded towards them, it immediately stopped and performed what was probably the canine equivalent of a bow towards Percy. 'Did you see or hear anything unusual on the night the deer known as Silver Blaze was taken? Bark once if the answer is yes, twice if the answer is no' he commanded the beast. The hound barked twice. _No, my lord_, its voice – a guttural rasp – sounded in his mind.

As a smirk began to grow across Percy's face, Phoebe snarked, 'So now we know that the hellhound saw and heard nothing unusual on that night. Very useful indeed, I can see us finding the thief any moment now.'

'Brilliant, Hunter' he shot back.

'Really?'

'Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot' he dismissed, turning to Artemis. 'We need to talk in _private_' he told her.

* * *

-Inside Artemis' temple-

_Hasn't changed much since the last time I was here, _Percy noted as his eyes began darting around in their sockets – rare animal skins decorated the walls, along with some pictures of what he presumed was the Hunt since its inception.

'So what did you want to talk to me about, that couldn't have been done outside, Perseus?' she inquired.

'I suspect that a member of your Hunt, or another of your attendants is the thief' he said simply, holding up a hand to forestall the firestorm that he knew was coming. 'Hear me out first - _please_' he said. 'We know that your hellhound guard dog saw and heard nothing unusual that night; now, when you take breaks from hunting, I am well aware that you allow your Hunters to use your temple as their place of residence. This then implies that your guard dog would not see their presence here as being unusual. Inference: someone that you regularly allow the run of this property stole your precious Silver Blaze, someone that the guard dog was familiar with enough that they noticed nothing out of place; most likely a member of your Hunt.'

Artemis sat there gaping in surprise as he fired off his chain of deductions, flushing deeply for some reason; after about a minute, despite how much he enjoyed seeing her flustered – _she looks quite nice like that_ – he said, 'Flies are probably going to go inside your mouth if you keep it open like that for much longer.'

Artemis continued staring and gaping at him in surprise before finally closing her mouth. 'That's impossible, Perseus, they were all at our campsite at the time of the theft…the only way someone could do that in the few minutes they had would have been…to flash or to use your 'Portkeys'…' she defended her Hunters, before frowning. _Surely not…and yet…_

'I'm just putting the facts forward' he shrugged, hands held out defensively.

'Perseus, did _you_ take Silver Blaze?' she blurted out as he got up and made to leave. Artemis instantly regretted asking him that, as his back stiffened in indignation.

'You think…that because I can make myself 'Portkeys', I must be the one that stole your deer?' he snorted. 'You know…for some reason…I expected more from you' he told her slowly. 'I'm going to honour my commitment – to clear my name if nothing else' he said disdainfully, in a slightly raised voice, overriding whatever it was she was going to say – at this point, he didn't care much for her empty platitudes. 'I'll find that stupid deer for you. Then that's it. This arrangement of ours – we're through.'

And then he left; somehow, to Artemis, the soft whisper of the doors as they closed shut behind him seemed louder than Zeus' thunder. She snarled to herself and punched the wall in frustration, heedless of the hairline cracks that started spreading across the formerly seamless marble like a spider's web. 'Oh damn it all' she whispered to herself.

* * *

-Hunter's campsite-

Thalia grimaced to herself as she continued contemplating the issue that seemed to preoccupy her mind all the time recently – Percy. He'd changed so much, and while she knew that change wasn't necessarily good or bad in itself, he didn't seem anywhere near as…content as he had used to be over a decade ago. She missed that old Percy; nowadays, when they talked, there was always this slight tension between the two of them. The two of them had to talk this out, she knew – it was just, he was so, so, aggravating! That, plus the way he effortlessly carved her up during their spars made her even more angry and frustrated than ever. As she was thinking this over, Percy suddenly appeared in the middle of camp; for some reason, Artemis was absent, she noticed. Her eyes widened as she saw Phoebe, and another Hunter, Karen move over to accost Percy; from the stormy look in his eyes, she could tell that they were going to get hurt if she didn't intervene on their behalf.

'Phoebe, Karen, I need to speak with you, _now_' she called out just a moment to late to stop them from blocking Percy's path. She winced as his gaze slowly lifted to their faces, framed by blonde hair, and _sharpened_. She knew that look – it was the same one he had worn on his face when he had first reasoned out Chase's betrayal.

'Get out of the way, I'm not in the mood to deal with…whoever it is you are right now' he growled out, eyes flashing dangerously. Unfortunately, Phoebe and Karen, whilst normally reasonable at the best of times, were so consumed by their petty hatred of him that they completely missed the tell-tall warning signs that could've been picked up by someone who was blind and deaf. As Phoebe started to jab her finger at him, opening her mouth at the same time, Percy finally snapped and lashed out, effortlessly knocking them away with punches hard enough to cause blood to coat his fists. 'I'm too old to be dealing with this' he grumbled as he continued on towards his tent.

As the two Hunters picked themselves off the ground and looked like they were about to draw their weapons on him, Thalia levelled the two of them with her best glare, noticing with satisfaction that they backed down almost immediately, moving back to their own tents. _I've still got it_, she smirked to himself as she strode over to Percy, just before he entered his tent.

'Do you want to explain what that was about?' she asked him peremptorily.

'No.'

Thalia glared at him. 'You're an ass' she said.

'Yes.'

'What is your problem? I mean, sure, they deserved it, but that was a tad excessive' she demanded, sparks flying around her.

'I said I was an ass, I didn't say I had a problem. In fact, I have no problem at all. I pay my bills, I make my meals. I'm alive. I function. I have a house. That's a lot more than other people have.'

'That's all you want from life now? You barely have any relationships.'

'I don't _want_ any more relationships.'

'You actively alienate people now.'

'Please, I've been doing that since I was born.'

'Not like this – Percy, come on! You don't think you've changed in the past ten years?'

'Of course I have. I've gotten more mature. I got educated. I get bored more easily.'

'No – I was there with you ten years ago. You are not just some regular guy who's getting older. You've changed! You're _miserable_! You're _empty_! You're-'

'OF COURSE I'VE CHANGED!' the male demigod suddenly shouted. 'Did you really think that I wouldn't? _Ten_ years, Thalia! Did you really expect that the world would stand still? Maybe it does for you, but it certainly hasn't for me!'

The two of them glared at each other, chests heaving they noticed their surroundings and tried to calm themselves down; around the female demigod, lightning arced out of her body erratically, singing anything that got too close, whilst around the male, wind started whipping around furiously, rapidly approaching hurricane speeds. As the supernatural phenomena around them slowly died down, Percy sighed, and turned away. 'We're done here' he said as he entered his tent. He didn't look back.

* * *

-NYU Langone Medical Centre-

The moment he was inside his tent, Percy 'Portkeyed' away to a small walk-in closet that Molly used to store her equipment in the morgue. 'I need your help' he called out, fists still red with blood. 'Molly, I need you to compare these two blood samples against these hair strands I found at the crime scene.'

'Five minutes!' Molly called out. As she saw his hands coated in blood, she made a face and absent-mindedly motioned him to the lab, where he rested his fists onto separate Petri dishes; finally releasing his control over the blood and allowing it to fall in, Percy sighed in relief as his hands became clean once more. Almost as an afterthought, he added the small packet containing the hairs he had found at the campsite.

As the two friends waited for the lab reports to come back, Molly turned to Percy and reached out for his hand. 'Something bothering you?' she asked him as she gently covered his hand with her own. 'You seem rather troubled.'

'Have you ever been angry at someone – really angry at someone – because they betrayed your trust?' he asked after a few minutes of silence.

Molly hesitated. _If I mention the drug incident to him, would he relapse? No, he's been sober all these years…but neither of us like talking about it…and he'll notice if I lie…_'Yes' she said eventually. 'The, um "incident" a while back.'

'How _did_ you forgive me for that?' he asked her curiously – to this day, he had still never puzzled out why she and Mycroft had forgiven him for it.

'Your friendship means a lot to me' she shrugged. 'Even though it was a completely _stupid_ thing to do, you're still my friend – and I blame myself a bit for that episode, I should have been there for you-'

'My decision to use drugs had nothing to do with you, or with Mycroft' Percy interrupted. He grinned and squeezed her hand reassuringly as he said, 'I was being selfish, I wanted to numb everything. But that decision rests solely on _my_ shoulders.'

'…thank you' Molly said eventually. 'I think, that you shouldn't toss away friendship without at least having a discussion with that person face to face' she added, before smiling wryly. 'But then, what do I know? Most of my friends,' she swept a hand around the morgue, 'are dead.'

For some reason, the two of them found that joke completely hilarious, ending up on the floor laughing hysterically. Unnoticed by either of the two Oxford graduates, a pair of silver eyes vanished from the hairline crack of the slightly ajar door.

'Percy, the blood sample from your left hand is a perfect match for the hair' Molly informed.

'I see.'

Percy's phone buzzed with a text; picking it out from his pocket, he read the words displayed across the screen, eyes widening as he took it in.

**You never told me that you were with the Hunters Perseus! How very naughty of you…XOXO**

A single word rang through his mind.

_Moriarty_.

* * *

-Percy's tent-

_The fact that Moriarty is aware of my presence here indicates that he has eyes and ears everywhere…he must be studying me for pressure points…so in that case...while the two of us are having this disagreement, it would be beneficial for him to witness a falling out between us..._

As Percy stepped inside, he was greeted by the sight of Artemis sleeping in _his_ sofa. Involuntarily, he felt a gentle smile spreading across his face as he saw how peaceful she looked; with her auburn hair splayed around her head, he was reminded of the day he had woken to see her sleeping by his bedside so long ago. Despite their latest conflict and the growing distance between them, seeing her sleeping so innocently like this still evoked that strange sense of protectiveness inside of him. Not wanting to disturb the blissfully asleep goddess, Percy tried stepping as quietly as possible as he moved towards the kitchen – apparently it wasn't quiet enough though, because Artemis' eyes started fluttering open. 'Percy?' she mumbled, blinking furiously – _this is the first time she's called me that since I came back, she made a rather big point of calling me Perseus recently…eyes tinged a slight red for some reason, must have been crying quite a bit, I wonder why? – _as she got up. Percy tried continuing towards the kitchen, but she stepped in front of him. 'We need to work this out Perseus' she pleaded.

'There's nothing _to_ work out, _Lady_ Artemis' he said dryly. 'We each do our separate things, and we don't ever have to see or talk to each other. Speaking of which…' he tried to move past her but she stepped in front of him again.

'I-I'm sorry' she said softly.

'I think you need to find someone who actually cares' he blew her off, trying to ignore the pain that filled her face. 'But since, you're here anyway, I think I should tell you: earlier I attacked two of your Hunters when they tried to accost me – apparently, their names are Phoebe and Karen, but that's not the important bit; the important bit is that the DNA of whoever Phoebe is perfectly matches that of a hair I found at the scene; it would appear that she is our thief. I was planning to interrogate her with John, but if you wish to tag along…'

'Fine' Artemis said, hurt and resentful of the fact that he had just blown off her apology.

* * *

-Phoebe and Karen's shared tent-

When Phoebe walked into her tent, she was greeted by the sight of Artemis and Percy waiting for her. 'I believe – no, I know, that you're a bit – no, very much an idiot' Percy said as she stood there in astonishment. 'But despite your stupidity, I really can't bring myself to believe that you would betray your patron.'

'W-what is the meaning of this?' Phoebe demanded. She turned to Artemis. 'What is _he_ doing here, my lady?'

'Yes' Percy replied, and knocked her out.

'I could have ordered her to stand down you know' Artemis growled out.

'This is more fun' Percy shrugged as he entered Phoebe's mind; a few moments later, he pulled out and nodded at the goddess. 'We were right – Blonde Hunter is innocent; during the time of the theft, she has a complete blank in her memory; ergo, she was possessed by an unknown entity and forced to commit the theft.'

As he made to leave, Artemis reached out and held his arm. 'Percy, we need to talk' she insisted.

'I disagree; we have nothing to talk about, period.'

'I – I know that we've both had our disagreements with each other' she continued, undeterred. 'If we want them to not get in the way of our friendship, I think we both have to apologise and put this behind us' she said, offering him a hand.

Percy paused and turned to her slowly. 'I like you…,' he said slowly, making her heart leap in joy, 'we work well together'. Artemis frowned – was that the only reason? Her heart slowly sank as he kept on speaking relentlessly, ignoring the voices screaming in his head to stop, 'But I'm not going to delude myself into thinking that we're going to be hanging out, having dinners – catching up in general, really, in the future. Perhaps we'll pass each other, say "hi", give a nod in the same room…you've made it quite clear that we're not friends, we're colleagues…and I don't have anything to apologise for.'

'That's funny, that's not what I remember you saying ten years ago' Artemis said angrily.

'Let's face it, _Lady_ Artemis, both of us were vulnerable after the Giant War – I after Chase's betrayal, and you after the massacre of most of your Hunters. We needed companionship; we projected these desires onto each other, we took advantage of each other's vulnerability. Hardly a good basis for friendship.'

As he finished, Artemis finally looked up at him. 'It seems that there's nothing more for us to say' she said steadily, desperately hoping he couldn't read the hurt from her body. _But he most likely will_, her mind whispered.

'No, there isn't' he said as he finally walked away. _Are you sure about this?_, the voices in his mind palace whispered. _Alone is what I have, alone is what protects them_. _It's too late for John and Molly, he's already seen how close I am to them, but perhaps I can save Artemis and Thalia...and I suppose the rest of the Hunters._

* * *

-Percy's tent-

'Don't you think that you should apologise to Phoebe?' John prodded, uncomfortably aware of the dark looks Artemis was sending his partner.

'Who's Phoebe?' Percy asked absent-mindedly as he continued staring up at the ceiling.

'The girl who you just knocked out a few minutes ago, and whose mind you probed' John offered.

'Oh, yes, that Phoebe. I refer to most, quote, unquote, Hunters, here as "Not-Thalia"' Percy drawled; Thalia's lips curled into a brief smile at the half-compliment. 'And I don't think I will, she may have been innocent of the theft, but she is definitely guilty of being negligent in her own training' Percy held a hand up to forestall any complaints. 'I know for a _fact_ that all "Hunters" receive training to guard their minds from mental attack; from what I have determined from my foray into her mind, she offered only token resistance at best – someone of her seniority should most certainly have been rather skilled in fending off mental attacks.'

'That's rather cold of you' Thalia piped up, noticing the growing anger on Artemis' face. She didn't know what had happened between the two of them, but she most definitely did not want to be caught between the middle of their latest spat.

Percy sighed and rolled over to face his cousin. 'Oh, I'm sorry, are you telling me I need to be _nicer_?'

'That would probably go a long way towards establishing a better relationship with the other Hunters, yes.'

'You are implying that I wish for a closer relationship in the first place – let me assure you, I do not. Though, you do have a point; there is unquestionably a certain utility to being polite. However, I am not a nice man. It's important that you understand that. It's going to save you a great deal of time and effort. There is no warmer, kinder me waiting to be coaxed out into the light. I am acerbic. I can be cruel. It's who I am now. I'm neither proud of this, nor ashamed of it. It simply is who I am. And in my work, my nature has been an advantage to me far more often than it has been a hindrance. I'm not going to change.'

And with that, Percy resumed his staring up at the ceiling – until about five minutes later, when he shot upright and ran into one of the empty rooms. Puzzled, Thalia made to follow him, when John stepped in front of her and shook his head. 'You _really_ do not want to go in there' he told her. 'He, uh, sometimes needs to vent' he elaborated, just as a muted bang reverberated through the walls. A few minutes later, Percy came out of the room, smiling freely.

'Made progress? I'm stumped' John admitted.

'I believe I may know where our abductor is' he announced.

As Percy dragged out a whiteboard into the living room and started scribbling across it, the remaining people in the room seated themselves and watched him at work; near dancing in his frenzy to scrawl down his train of thought. Percy nodded in satisfaction as he looked at the whiteboard and turned to his audience. 'We know that Silver Blaze was stolen away yesterday night' he began. 'Blonde Hunter's hairs were found at the scene of the crime; upon my, ah, interrogation of her, we found that she had a five minute blank during the same night, which could only have been caused by complete mental possession; if she had arranged for her memories to be erased, there would still be faint…imprints, if you will, remaining within her psyche, barring being washed with the waters of the Lethe, which quite obviously didn't happen given her rather hostile reaction to me.'

'Get to the point Holmes' Artemis barked out, drawing herself surprised looks from John and Thalia. _What happened?_ John mouthed at Thalia. _I don't know_, she mouthed back.

'_The point_, _my Lady_, is that complete mental possession of someone – even someone with mental defences as abysmal as Blonde Hunter is difficult at the best of times; for optimum results, one would have to be within close range of the subject at all times-'

'How close?'

'_Very_ close, within at most a hundred metres. Now, even if the actual perpetrator was as powerful as myself, they would still have to limit themselves to being within a few hundred metres at best to ensure that they remained in total control – just outside of the field where the hellhound guard resides, hence why it didn't notice anything out of the ordinary – to it, the only person present was Blonde Hunter. Having deduced this much, I returned to the crime scene, where I found myself noticing traces – just traces, of a peculiar scent. I later deduced that scent to be of that of a very rare luxury brand of hand soap and shampoo, which, so far as I am aware, is used at only one hotel in New York. Now, clearly the perpetrator is a demigod, since no ordinary mortal has the telepathic abilities required, and no god would steal another god's symbol of power. Ergo, tonight, we shall move out to this hotel and search it from top to bottom for clues.'

'And you worked all this out in the space of a few minutes whilst having a temper tantrum?' Thalia deadpanned after taking a moment to absorb his impromptu lecture.

'Sure, why not.'

* * *

-Outside unnamed hotel-

Artemis and Thalia had grudgingly changed into more nondescript clothes: jeans and plain white T-shirts, black jackets and joined John and Percy, who seemed to be poring over some files in a café outside the hotel. 'When you said we were going to search the hotel from top to bottom, I didn't realise you meant that you were going to sit in a café' Artemis said dryly, uncomfortably aware of some of the looks the other patrons were sending her way.

'Yes, and when we agreed on the fee for our services, I assumed that it included freedom from small talk, but we don't always get what we want' Percy replied, eyes still scanning the files as he sipped from his cup of tea. 'These,' he swept his hand around, 'are what some contacts of mine have been able to obtain from the hotel's computer network. Owing to its sheer expense, there appear to be only about twenty patrons currently employing the hotel's services; I then had my contacts pull up a thorough background search of every one of these patrons, all of them, save for one, passed with flying colours. Each of those patrons that passed were well above board, with no criminal records or suspected to be involved in criminal activity.'

'The person who failed the test – quite thorough, I assure you, to ensure that it is not a fake identity – is a woman that goes by the name of Helen Armstrong. What is quite curious is that, despite her age – which is apparently twenty eight, she has no Internet presence whatsoever since before ten years ago, which sent alarm bells ringing naturally, since in this day and age, _everyone_ has a digital footprint. Speaking of which…there she is now' he nodded. Artemis and Thalia turned to look at their suspected thief; in an elegant white dress, she was fairly tall, perhaps just a few inches shorter than Percy, with her tanned skin, deep blue eyes and long black hair, she cut a striking figure as she strode confidently away from the hotel. Percy gingerly placed his cup back onto the saucer and began to move, the others following him reluctantly.

* * *

-Outside the Yellow Box Warehouse, New York Harbour-

'That's Silver Blaze!' Artemis gasped, pointing at the sudden gleam of silver that they glimpsed through their binoculars.

'Observant as ever Lady Artemis; soon you will deduce that it is almost night and that we are in New York' Percy replied, before pausing. _Almost night…oh no_. Moving as fast as he could, he wrapped his coat around her; standing back to admire his handiwork, he stifled a faint chuckle at the goddess' nonplussed, and steadily reddening face – though whether it was from embarrassment or anger, he couldn't tell.

'You have…precisely one minute to tell me why you just manhandled me like that, or I will remove what makes you a male' Artemis said shakily, not quite meeting his eyes; for a moment, she had thought he was going to kiss her, and for some reason, the fact that he didn't made her feel…disappointed. She let out a soft growl – she shouldn't be feeling this way, certainly not towards him after the way he had thrown away their friendship!

'It's almost night; during the night when the moon is out, you glow slightly and, for lack of a better way to describe it, become much more physically appealing to the naked eye; we don't want to draw any unnecessary attention' he explained as he returned his gaze to the warehouse. 'Ah, Miss Armstrong is going inside now…go get your deer, and we'll wait outside; call for help if you need us.'

* * *

-Inside the Yellow Box Warehouse-

Artemis looked around the warehouse warily, half crouched, ready to spring up and lash out with her knives; her mind was opened, ready to call for Percy and the others if she needed them. Seeing the warehouse seemingly completely abandoned, she extended her senses outward, trying to seek out Armstrong; if Percy – _no, Holmes_, she told herself – was right, Armstrong was a demigod, and hence she should be able to detect her aura. Artemis smiled as she saw the woman bent over Silver Blaze – _probably feeding it, or something_, she decided, before frowning as she got closer. _Why was Armstrong so still? If she was just feeding Silver Blaze, surely she should moving slightly at least…_As the goddess crept closer to her sacred animal, her eyes widened as Armstrong finally came into full view – it was a mannequin! _Oh no…oh gods, no, it's a trap_, she realised, eyes widening. Instinctively spinning around, Artemis was barely able to catch the celestial bronze knife that fell towards her, just inches from her neck. The goddess retaliated almost instantly, throwing a knife at her opponent at such speed that no ordinary demigod would have been able to evade it – _even Holmes would be hard-pressed to avoid that, in such close quarters_, she thought – only to gape in surprise as her opponent whipped to the side effortlessly, her projectile harmlessly passing through where Armstrong had been just a moment before.

_Perhaps I should call for help_, her subconscious whispered. _Armstrong is no ordinary opponent_, _it would be best to have some backup_. _No!, _she dismissed, _she wouldn't give Holmes the satisfaction – she was a goddess, she didn't need anyone's assistance, least of all _his. As the two women circled each other warily, Armstrong rasped out, 'Where is Holmes?'. The goddess frowned – _why would she be expecting _him_ to be here? _– even as she lunged forward; Armstrong danced away in an almost bored manner, so similar to that of Per- _Holmes_, she reminded herself – that she gritted her teeth in anger and humiliation as he flew to the front of her mind again. 'Enough' Armstrong sighed. 'Now!'

Artemis barely managed to process this – _she has an accomplice _– before screaming out _Percy!_, moments before falling to the ground, out cold.

* * *

-Outside the Yellow Box Warehouse-

The moment Artemis had screamed his name out, Percy had broken cover immediately – _she is proud, very proud, the fact that she was calling for help so desperately means something must have gone really wrong, oh gods I hope she isn't hurt_ \- sprinting through the open doors, faster than he had ever moved before, he saw Artemis lying down on the ground, a shapeless black mass crouching over her. 'Stay away from her!' he roared out, slashing at the mass with Riptide. After the mass neatly sidestepped the gleaming sheet of death, he made out a few features – _long, black hair, merciless, cold blue eyes – Helen Armstrong!_

Armstrong snarled as he whipped out a leg, avoiding it with grace that would have made an Olympic gymnast jealous; she somersaulted over it neatly, and reached out to grab his outstretched limb, presumably to throw it, only to be stymied by his baton as he swatted her hand away! The two of them disengaged, circling each other warily. For a moment, he thought Armstrong was planning to fight him anyway, regardless of the fact that she had lost the element of surprise, when they both heard a set of footsteps thundering – _John and Thalia, a little slow, but at least they're here_ – towards them. Armstrong snarled and glared at him with such vitriol, he couldn't help but flinch slightly as she spat out, 'We'll finish this another time, Holmes'. And then she was gone, smashing her way through a window and hence to the harbour.

Percy paused, stricken between his desire to pursue Armstrong and to attend to Artemis – and helping Artemis won, as he glanced over at her – auburn hair lankily framing that too-pale face, and – he froze – a knife sticking into her torso; he could just barely see the point coming out of her body. He stiffened again as he heard a groaning sound from the rafters; as John and Thalia ran towards him and the unconscious Artemis, the roof collapsed, sending down a pile of slate tiles and wooden beams tumbling down between them. Percy swore as he looked in despair at the blockade – they might be able to get around it, but not in time. He looked at Artemis desperately – _large knife in torso, cleanly pushed through at least, but the size of the stab wound is so large…oh gods, no_, he thought, as he caught sight of another, identical mark on her shoulder and her leg. _So much blood..._, he thought.

* * *

-With John and Thalia-

John snarled, and turned to his companion. 'Thalia, can you fly us-' he stopped as a sudden harsh light filled their side of the barricade, forcing them to turn and cover their eyes; fumbling, the two of them snapped on pairs of anti-glare goggles. Vaguely, he could make out a tall man in blazing golden armour.

'Bow before the Lord of Light!' a voice bellowed out. John's eyes widened, and he swore in conjunction with Thalia as they drew their weapons in preparation to face Hyperion, self-proclaimed 'Lord of Light', and one of the strongest Titans.

**Will John and Thalia defeat the Titan, or will they fall to his might? What happens to Artemis and Percy next? Will their relationship be repaired any time soon? Find out in the next chapter!**

**Author's note: Hello guys, here's the latest instalment of my work! Many thanks again for the support of my readers, this was a particularly tough chapter to grind out, but I hope that it is satisfactory :). ****I would also like to acknowledge the fact that I have used dialogue from both Elementary and House MD in this chapter. In concluding, a****s ever, please read and review! **


	8. Of Gods and Men

Disclaimer: Same as Chapter 1.

* * *

Chapter 8: Of Gods and Men

As Hyperion's figure loomed over them, John started thinking feverishly, desperately dredging up every bit of information Percy had given him on Hyperion, "just in case". _From what Percy told me, Hyperion likes to use a combination of light and fire to blind his opponents_, John sent to his companion. _Can you whip up a storm to try and douse him? If I could do that, I would have done it already_, Thalia thought back. Hyperion smiled – at least, John thought he was smiling – at them through his visor as he started spinning his golden sword around, setting it alight. John growled and aimed his gun at Hyperion and began shooting as Thalia sent out as much lightning as she could. The Titan laughed and continued forward, heedless of the bullets peppering his blazing golden armour, the bolts striking him. 'Are you quite finished?' he asked as they let up on their assault. Not waiting for an answer, he continued, 'Then let us begin.'

Had it not been for Percy's training, and his experience in Afghanistan, John knew without a doubt that he would have fallen to the Titan almost immediately, so furious was his onslaught. Narrowly avoiding a sweeping downwards slash, John brought out the baton Percy had gifted him all those months ago in London; he swung his baton out in a wide arc, pinning down the Titan's sword as Thalia lunged forward with her spear. Despite their intentions to turn Hyperion into so much shish kebab, the spear tip merely bounced off of his armour. Hyperion laughed and erupted into a fiery pillar; desperately, John and Thalia scrambled away as he sent out a torrent of flames at them.

* * *

-With Percy &amp; Artemis-

Percy shivered as he looked down at Artemis; there was so much blood…._wait, blood? Gods don't have blood, they bleed ichor…_Percy's eyes widened in horror. Somehow, Armstrong had performed the impossible – _she stripped Artemis of her godhood_! Percy's eyes narrowed, scanning her body feverishly, fingers reaching for sterile needles and sutures, a legacy of a time long gone. _Focus_, he commanded himself. _You'll do no good_ _if you fall apart here…let's see, stab wound is on the anterior compartment of her left thigh, it seems that the blade bit rather deeply in, I can see the shaft of the femur from here…seems to just have been a glancing blow on her shoulder – her abdominal wound is by far the most serious, I can see some of her viscera from here…however, from what I can see, she seems to avoided damaging any organs at all_…_so low chance of any internal bleeding…the blood already lost is going to be a problem, but luckily these are all fairly clean stab wounds, and seems to have missed the major nerve endings and muscles…Armstrong knew exactly what to do to incapacitate Artemis. Right, the first thing that we were taught to do back then was to clean and dry the wound…_gently, he poured some water from his canteen onto her torso wound, and then he set to work.

* * *

-With John and Thalia-

John dove around the corner of the warehouse just as a plume of flame leapt at him. The moment the blaze died away, he craned his head around the edge of the warehouse wall and emptied his clip of bullets; for a few brief moments, Hyperion stumbled back under the sudden assault, his armour becoming decidedly bent under the barrage of slugs. Which was all Thalia ever needed, as she slammed the Titan back with what John would later describe as hurricane force winds, sending him splashing into New York Harbour. As the duo warily approached the wharf, a series of overpowering flashes began illuminating the depths of the harbour; they turned to face each other and gulped.

'Not good?'

'Not good.'

And New York Harbour erupted into a fountain of steam.

* * *

-With Artemis and Percy-

Percy snarled as he saw how pale she was; he'd managed to suture up her wounds just fine, but her blood…so much blood. _What's going to kill her?,_ mind-Molly-and-John asked him. _Blood loss_, he replied. _She's going to go into hypovolemic shock, symptoms: loss of consciousness, low blood pressure, weak pulse…to treat blood loss of this magnitude, a blood transfusion is often required, I'm type O negative…but how do I transfuse my blood into her, I don't have any equipment, how, how, how? _Percy's eyes widened in horror as he looked at her closely again – _her lips are turning blue, I don't have long…_

_Oh, Percy, it doesn't matter about the blood loss, broaden your thinking – you always were so conventional_, a voice spoke out in his mind – Mycroft! _So she's going to die from blood loss, so what? You can control liquids; force your own blood into her, then suture up the wounds! _

Percy didn't hesitate, even for a second; with Riptide, he gently pricked his finger and watched the tiny beads of blood begin seeping out. And then he focused on Artemis, and started his impromptu operation.

* * *

-John and Thalia-

Even with their goggles, the two of them instinctively flinched backwards from the gradually growing light that rose from the harbour. 'Enough!' Hyperion roared out, blasting the two of them back with a wave of his hand – John was thankful for the distance between them; had it not been for that, he knew that the two of them would have been flattened then and there. As it was, they were still sent flying back, until they painfully crashed into the warehouse – well, John did, Thalia managed to slow herself down with the winds, enough that along with grounding herself with her spear, she was just able to skid to a halt moments before she would have crashed into the warehouse. _Where is Percy when you need him?_, she wondered, even as Hyperion charged straight towards her.

Thalia snarled as he bore down on them. _Time for a last resort_, she decided. She reached deep inside herself, ignoring the growing painful tug in her gut. She glared at the Titan, electric blue eyes flashing dangerously, and _struck_; she removed all the air around the Titan in an instant – creating, just for a moment, a perfect vacuum. Hyperion clutched at his throat and fell down to a knee – something Thalia was surprised at; even though he was a Titan, this should have made him keel over immediately. And then, she released her iron hold on the air; in an instant, striking like Mjolnir, Hyperion was slammed by the rushing wind. The demigod felt herself involuntarily sinking to her own knees, eyes fluttering, before widening in shock. Impossibly, the Titan was rising _yet again_. His blazing gold suit of armour was torn apart, smashed by the sudden increase in pressure, revealing a tall, muscular man inside, body streaked with golden ichor. But he was alive, and from the harsh glow that started surrounding him once more, he was _angry_.

From the corner of her eye, she could make out John blasting away with another clip of bullets – _how does he have so many?,_ she idly wondered. _This_ time, without the Titan's suit of armour in the way, John's barrage was _much_ more effective, sending Hyperion reeling back, wide holes gaping in his torso and limbs. The two demigods flinched, as, incredibly, Hyperion rose once more, levelling them with his flaming golden eyes. As his presence flared into an iridescent flaming golden aura that scorched the tarmac into boiling pits of tar, they fell to their knees. He lifted his flaming sword, ready to smite them with all of his power. Just before his blade could descend upon them, he flinched, holding his head gingerly, seemingly talking to someone else mentally for a few seconds. As he refocused onto the demigods in front of him, he bit out, sheathing his sword as he did so, 'Sorry. Wrong day to die.'

He erupted into a pillar of flame.

'J-Jesus' John gasped out. 'T-that was, s-something' he babbled, acutely aware of the light-headedness that suddenly seemed to pervade his entire being. _Need to get to Percy_, he reminded himself. _And Artemis, she seemed to not be too stellar when we last saw her_. Doggedly, with the same tenacity and valour that had won him his Victoria Cross, John struggled back onto his feet, extending his baton into something resembling a makeshift cane. Together, he and Thalia hobbled back over to the Yellow Box Warehouse, hoping against hope that they would arrive in time. 'A-are you alright?' he asked, cursing his stumbling tongue.

'Fine' Thalia said curtly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out an onyx black coin, seemingly made of Stygian iron, judging from the way it practically screamed out _death_ to John's every senses. 'I use this to contact Nico' she explained, tapping the coin gently. After what felt like a several anxious hours, but was really only a minute or two at most, Nico di Angelo, immortal lieutenant of Hades shot out of the shadows in full battle regalia.

'What happened?' he demanded aggressively, sword swinging back and forth almost hypnotically.

'Hyperion happened; we need you to get us past this blockade, to Artemis and Percy' Thalia croaked out; instinctively, John reached out and steadied her just moments before she would have fallen to her knees. Nico nodded and, after sheathing his sword, grasped their arms, steadying them. A moment later, the shadows leapt at them; to John, he felt like he was moving so fast, his face was peeling off. As their feet landed inside the Yellow Box Warehouse, he and Thalia immediately keeled over and started dry retching. As he gingerly wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, John froze as he caught sight of his other two companions. _They're so still…_ignoring the vomit still trailing down from his mouth onto his clothes, John ran over to them immediately, pausing only to wipe his hands and snap on a pair of sterile disposable gloves. He glanced at Percy_, _tearing off his friend's clothes desperately, trying to find the wound – _oh gods, he's so pale…_ – before frowning. _No wound at all…_glancing at Artemis, his eyes immediately traced out the tell-tale mark of stitches – _they look like they've been done by a medical virtuoso_, he marvelled. Percy_ did this?_

Mentally, he began reconstructing the flow of events – _from what we saw when we ran in, right before the roof collapsed, Artemis was lying on the floor; obviously, Percy treated her wounds – judging from the lack of any wounds on his own person, I can only assume then that the pool of blood originates from Lady Artemis; therefore, whoever attacked her must have removed her godhood…Percy is exhibiting classic symptoms of hypovolemic shock, I need to restore his blood levels_, he decided. Stretching his hand over his friend, a golden light suffused the two of them for a few seconds, John gasping as even more of his strength was sapped out of him – but it was _worth it_, he exulted, because he could see a sudden rush of colour flooding his best friend's cheeks. And, having seen that, he promptly fainted.

* * *

-Apollo's temple-

John blinked as he stared up at the plain white ceiling. Tilting his head to the side, he found Apollo – _his father_ – sleeping by his bedside in his thirty year old form. The two of them looked quite similar, he realised in mild surprise – the last time they had met, Apollo had been in a teenaged form, but now, the resemblances between them were clear for anyone to see: sandy blond hair, the same muscular build, though he wasn't quite as tall as his father. Gently, he reached out and shook his father awake.

'It's good to see you awake, son' Apollo said stiffly – but then, considering that they had only met and talked a few times in the thirty years of John's life, some stiffness was to be expected. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he started consulting his clipboard, before he said 'I'm glad to say that although you suffered a couple of broken ribs and rather heavy bruising on your back, I managed to fix those ribs, and your back is also completely healed, although I would recommend not sleeping on your back for a while – it may still be a bit tender.'

'R-right' John said, noticing his father shuffling his feet nervously. _Time to direct the subject to safer topics…_'How are Percy and Lady Artemis doing?' he asked.

Apollo paled and slumped into his chair, rubbing his eyes. John's eyes widened – to see the normally composed thirty year old collapse in on himself like that, he instinctively sensed that whatever he was going to hear was not going to be pretty. 'Percy's fine John' Apollo told him, making him let out a sigh of relief. 'But my sister…it's not good.'

* * *

-A little earlier-

When Percy woke up, he found himself staring up at Apollo, who was just in the process of slipping his stethoscope onto his chest. 'Where's Artemis?' he demanded.

Apollo delicately raised an eyebrow and continued his examination, undeterred. 'Hello to you too Percy. I'm fine, thanks for asking' he replied snarkily.

'Good to see you too Apollo. Where is Artemis? How is she?' he asked impatiently. As he saw Apollo look away, Percy bit back the urge to grab him by the lapel of his coat and shake him until he answered. 'It's not good, is it?' he asked – and if his voice was trembling slightly, Apollo was tactful enough not to mock him for it.

'Not good' he confirmed.

'W-where is she?'

Apollo paused for a brief moment. 'I'll wheel you to her' he said after a moment, still not meeting his eyes – he knew how much his sister meant to the young demigod, even if both parties refused to even acknowledge the fact.

Percy let out a breath of relief as he saw Artemis; sitting upright in her hospital bed, she seemed to be physically fine – _wounds have disappeared, thanks to Apollo no doubt, but skin still too pale…knowing Apollo's methods and Apollo himself as I do, I can safely conclude that he would have completely healed his sister – therefore, she is in a state of extreme emotional distress, hence her pallor. That'd be borne out by her vacant stare as well…I imagine it would have been a shock to learn that she was stripped of her godhood; judging from her aura, attempts to restore it were unsuccessful, and she's still a demigod._ Percy shivered as he remembered seeing her lying there: blood quietly trickling out from her body, normally vibrant auburn hair framing that too-pale face – during the several tense moments that he had attended to her, he had thought he was going to lose her. _It's your fault_, his mind whispered. _If you hadn't told her to go in alone…_

Percy pushed the voices in his mind away, immersing himself into reality once more as Apollo wheeled him next to Artemis. 'A-are you alright?' he said after a few minutes had passed, in a tone that even a deaf man would have described as tender.

'I'm fine' she muttered. 'I'm touched by your concern.'

Percy frowned at her unusual reticence; normally, she would have replied with a bit more fire. 'Apollo wanted me to tell you that you can go back to your Hunters now…' Percy broke off as he noticed the tears slowly trickling down her face. Slowly, almost against his own volition, he gingerly wrapped his arms around the woman, preparing himself to get slapped in the face. He almost wished that he would get slapped when, to his utter shock and horror, she buried her face onto his shoulder and started to cry. _Help me_, he mouthed at Apollo, who seemed torn in deciding whether he was supposed to feel amused or shocked by the scene. _Hug her back, pat her on the shoulder, that kind of thing_, he advised after a moment. _Percy, any other man would be enjoying having a beautiful woman in their arms – do cheer up, you look like you're going to spontaneously combust!_

Percy scowled at the god and gingerly resumed holding her, until she suddenly stiffened and pulled back, giving him an almost disgusted look. As she withdrew, she seemed to notice his shocked expression and started recomposing herself. 'Thanks' she said coolly. 'I needed that' she admitted grudgingly, icy walls back up. Percy couldn't help but admire her dignity – even with tear tracks running across her face, she was still by far one of the most self-controlled people he had ever met.

Apollo cleared his throat, making his elder sister shift uneasily in mortification, only just remembering that he had been in the room the whole time. 'I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds, but since the two of you are awake, I am supposed to take you to the council; let me just check on my son first.'

* * *

-Throne room of Olympus-

Artemis looked on coldly as she saw Percy nodding at John and Thalia with the utmost of decorum – well, as much as anyone could with a thin hospital gown that made anyone wearing it feel half-naked, all whilst seated in a hospital bed. Though, admittedly, she wasn't one to talk, considering she was ensconced in a bed as well, at her brother's insistence. She pointedly ignored the pitying glances that the other gods were sending her way – she didn't need anyone's pity! – in favour of glaring at the back of Percy's – _no, Holmes'_ – head. _It's _his_ fault_, her mind whispered. _He sent you in alone after a dangerous thief with an unknown skillset…_As Zeus cleared his throat, the entire room quieted down; Artemis knew what was coming – since she was a mortal, she would have to find alternative arrangements for accommodation, at least until she found a way to regain her godhood. Artemis snapped her head up as she heard her father mention that her Hunters would have to be disbanded. Secretly, she was glad – she didn't want any of them seeing her like this: pathetic, weak, worthless. With a sudden flare of her simmering anger as she looked at Holmes again, she only dimly heard Zeus as he said, 'I suggest that for the time being, Artemis should live with Perseus. All in favour?'

'What?' she demanded. 'Y-you expect me to live with a _man_?'

'Is there a problem?' Zeus inquired, frowning. 'I was under the impression that the two of you were friends.'

Artemis clenched her fists as she realised that her father had backed her into a corner – if she told them about her confrontations with Holmes, she'd look like nothing more than a petulant child, and they'd still send her – send _her_ off to live with him as if she was a, a complete incompetent when it came to blending in with the mortal world! In her righteous anger, the former goddess conveniently ignored the fact that the last time she had properly immersed herself in the mortal world had been at least five centuries ago. She smiled thinly at the rapidly paling Holmes and said, 'No, no problem at all…'

* * *

-Percy's New York residence-

'And this will be your room, feel free to decorate it as you see fit' Percy ended Artemis' impromptu tour of his house.

'Thank you. Leave' the former goddess told him, firmly shutting the door in his face. Percy let out a sigh and slid back against the wall. _I guess I deserved that_. He scowled at John out of habit as he heard the doctor's soft chuckle.

'Oh, shut up.'

'You have to admit, it's funny seeing you get so affected by her' John shrugged, stifling his laughter. Percy spared him a dignified sniff and pulled out his phone to call Mycroft.

'Hello brother dear. How are you? I need you to do something for me…'

-A few days later-

Artemis looked down at the papers in front of her. 'Your identity documents and an Internet history have been fabricated for you, courtesy of my elder brother' Holmes informed her.

'Is that all?' she bit out.

'Well, your father said that we need to be together at all times…' Percy shrugged, barely managing to hide a shiver as she levelled him with the death rays that currently passed for her eyes. '…and I'm going to have to leave for work with the NYPD rather soon, so it would be best if you go with me.'

'Very well' she ground out.

As Percy led her and John to a house all the way across the other side of Manhattan, he paused and looked at her. Ever since the incident with Armstrong, she had become colder than Khione at her best towards him…he wondered whether he could get her to crack that icy shell even for a moment. 'Tell me, how do you want me to introduce you?' he said.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I find it hard to believe that you'd want me to introduce you as my personal helper-monkey' he replied, watching her eyes closely. _There – a sudden spark of anger_.

'Helper-monkey' she deadpanned. 'Introduce me as your associate' Artemis demanded imperiously after a moment.

'OK' he replied, already moving towards the police cordon, where his direct superior in the NYPD was waiting for him. 'It's nice to finally meet you in person, Captain Gregson of the NYPD. This is my partner John, we've already met briefly via webcam. Artemis, this is Captain Gregson, Captain Gregson, this is Diana Artemis Prince – I call her Artemis – my personal valet' Percy introduced, suddenly remembering that Artemis – when she was a goddess, at least – had had a propensity for mutilating men in creative fashions. _Maybe not the brightest idea I've ever had…_

'Holmes, Watson nice to meet you two at last' Gregson nodded, shaking his hand briefly, before turning to Artemis. 'Pleased to meet you, Ms Artemis. You're going to have to stay out here-'

'I'm afraid she's quite crucial to my process, Captain' Percy interjected, remembering his promise to Zeus to keep her safe and close by.

'It's OK, really' Artemis demurred, obviously pleased at the chance to get away from him.

'Actually, it isn't,' Percy objected, 'as I believe that it is the job of a proper valet to accompany their charge to their place of business. Well, consider this my place of business. Consider every wretched hive of depravity and murder in this city, my place of business. Unless of course, you don't really have the stomach for the sort of thing I do.'

He smiled inwardly as she glared at him and snatched the disposable gloves Gregson was holding out. 'I'm good.'

'So, Captain, would you be so good as to inform us as to the details of the case?' John interjected, sensing the escalating tension between the two demigods.

'Earlier today, it was reported to us by the owner of this house, a Miss Sarah Cushing, as soon as she returned home today from a weekend vacation that a body of a man was found here; he was shot to death. What's curious, though, is that his ears are missing…' Gregson trailed off as he saw Percy looking at a tall African American detective – a Detective J. Bell, according to his badge.

'Ah, Detective Joseph Bell, protégé of Captain Gregson' Percy nodded amiably, offering his hand to the younger man. 'Captain Gregson and I have high hopes for you detective – a glittering career.'

'Thanks?' Bell blinked, shaking his hand. 'I've heard good things about you too.'

'My apologies, Captain, please continue' Percy motioned.

'As I was saying, his body was found here; shot to death, ears missing…I was wondering if you could have a look at the scene and see if there's anything that we might have missed' Gregson said, walking into the house and pointing at the body.

'Of course, Captain' Percy said, mind already fixating itself upon the problem at hand. He gestured at the body and turned to John, then Artemis as he said, 'This seems to be an excellent opportunity to flex your deductive muscles, John – go on. Artemis, if you want, you could try too?'

Artemis crossed her arms and gave him a look which seemed to be saying, _Why? So you can insult and humiliate me?_ Realising he probably wasn't going to make much headway, he turned back to John.

* * *

John crouched down and looked closely at the body – _clearly, he died of a bullet shot straight through the heart, but for that to happen, the bullet would have had to penetrate through the ribs covering the heart – thus, there should be some bone fragments lying around, not to mention pieces of cardiac muscle lying all over the place…_John leaned in a little closer. _Bone fragments are here alright, but not enough…that and the lack of cardiac muscle, plus the extraordinary lack of blood despite a direct shot through the thoracic cavity tells us that he was killed elsewhere, and brought here. So, brought here by some unknown party, but why? Another questions is, why cut off his ear at all? _John moved over to the table where the evidence bags were mounted and checked the dead man's wallet. _Driver's license, in the name of Jim Browner…no cash, perhaps a mugging gone wrong? s_John shook his head – _no, if it was a mugging gone wrong, then the mugger would have had no incentive to move the body at all – they would have simply left the body and made a run for it. No, what we're dealing with is clearly a murder…_

John turned back to the corpse and poked it gently with his fingers. _Rigor mortis hasn't set in, so, the poor man was killed very recently, within the past four or so hours…now, it's about eight o'clock in the morning, so, between four o'clock and…about seven o'clock was when the body was moved here; Percy received the call from the Captain at about seven forty five; it takes approximately fifteen minutes for the police to get here from their station in the eleventh precinct; assuming that Ms Cushing called the police immediately – and she would have, why wouldn't she have – then, she would have arrived a few minutes before seven thirty. Since today was a particularly cloudy day, then it would have been an easy enough matter for the person to…drag in….the body. Oh, that is brilliant!_

John looked over the figure again and tried to lift the body, doing so only with much effort. _So, we can conclude that whoever moved him here is likely to be quite strong, given his mass…I could barely lift him up, so that means whoever moved him in here from their vehicle outside must have been quite strong to lug in Browner – that, or they had an accomplice…no, even if they did have an accomplice, I'm well above average strength, and could barely lift him – so they would still have to be fairly strong. Statistically, more likely to be a man who dragged in the corpse, if they were acting alone_, John mused, inwardly shivering as he saw Artemis' flinty gaze fixed upon him – he was _so_ thankful he hadn't said that out loud, he would never have heard the end of it.

'He was killed elsewhere, and brought here; that's confirmed by the lack of shell casings, blood, and cardiac muscle fragments here. He was killed very recently, between about four and seven o'clock this morning, somewhere within that time frame; the person, or people, that dragged him in were very strong – you can see that there are no scuff marks at all on the floor. As the floor is a rather delicate maple wood, then scuff marks would have been easy enough to create by his shoes dragging along the floor, but there are no scuff marks at all' John said finally. 'There might be a bit more I can get out, let me see…'

'Ah, it seems like another interesting case has popped up' Percy declared as he checked his phone. 'I'll be off now John, but don't worry – I have full confidence in Detective Bell and you.'

'…thanks?' John said as they left.

'Detective Bell, a word please' John said. Bell nodded and moved over to John.

'What's wrong?'

'There's something Ms Cushing is not telling us' John said, gesturing to the tearful woman answering Captain Gregson's questions outside.

'Why do you say that?' Bell asked, in the same manner a student did a respected teacher.

John blinked – dealing with hero worship was _not_ something he was well versed in. Though, come to think of it, it wasn't exactly something Percy was well versed in either, judging by how he generally treated his – _their_ – grateful clients. Recovering his composure a moment later, he said 'Well, consider this – the body is very heavy; dragging the corpse here would have been difficult, it would have taken effort. So why go to all the trouble of leaving the body here? Inference: this is a message to Ms Cushing. Now, it can't be a very subtle one, that would be missing the entire point of sending a message, messages are meant to be clearly understood.'

'The most obvious one would be: you're next' Bell continued after absorbing John's deduction.

'Indeed' John nodded, moving out to meet Captain Gregson and Ms Cushing. 'Ms Cushing, tell me, have you ever met the victim, Jim Browner, before? Interacted with him in any way?'

'N-no' she sniffed. _Lying_, John deduced, smirking slightly inside. _Never try lying to a child of Apollo_.

'I see, well, thank you for your time Ms Cushing' John said, walking back to Bell. 'She's lying; she knew Mr Browner. We need to discover their personal connection to each other. I suppose that we'll have to search Browner's residence.'

Bell nodded and checked the evidence bags, rummaging through them until he found his wallet. 'Found his address; I'll drive you there.'

* * *

-Percy's New York residence-

Percy stared back at the beautiful female teenager in front of him. 'So let me get this straight, Ms Hunter –'

'Please, call me Violet' Hunter smiled at him flirtatiously, making him shift in unease as Artemis' stare hardened into a flinty gaze at him. He had never quite figured out why she got angry whenever other women had approached him – it was clear that he wasn't interested in them. _A puzzle for another day_, he told himself, and continued.

'A couple of weeks ago you were approached by a man named Edward Rucastle, and you were hired to serve as a nanny for his six year old son, correct?'

'Yes' she pouted at him.

'And he told you that the conditions of your employment were that you had to live in his house, correct?'

'Yes.'

'Knowing full well that you are – forgive me, if I sound insensitive – an orphan?'

'Yes.'

Percy made a show of humming as he mentally beamed to Artemis, _Sounds like a sexual deviant to me, but then, she wouldn't have insisted on this meeting without a very good reason… _

_I'm sorry, are you talking to me?,_ Artemis snapped back. _I was under the impression that we weren't friends._

_Just curious_, he sent back.

_You don't tell someone that you're not friends and then casually discuss whether a client's employer is a sexual deviant or not_, she said with a tone of finality that indicated their mental conversation was over.

'From what you're telling me, your employer sounds like he's a sexual deviant, but I don't think that's why you insisted on this meeting' Percy said dryly, watching in amusement as she blushed furiously.

'N-no, h-he hasn't made any advances towards me' she said, face so dark red Percy suspected that she could have passed for a tomato. 'He's a very nice man, but quiet – keeps to himself-'

'Yes, but skipping to the actual reason why you demanded to see us' Artemis growled out, annoyed at the flirtatious glances she kept sending Holmes, though as to why, she wasn't sure.

'R-right. Well, I agreed to his terms – I mean, I have to have some job to support myself in college, and this paid really well…'

'Yes, but moving to the actual reason you are here, if you please' Percy sighed.

'I – um, well, I took up the job a week ago, and in that time, I've felt as if someone was watching me, but I don't know who it is or why they are doing so.'

Percy nodded slowly and suddenly whipped out his hand, pointing at her – or, more accurately, her electric blue dress and shorn tresses – _clear signs of her hair being recently cut, there's some bits of hair on her dress, so, very recently cut; from the way she's fingering and looking at it wistfully, she preferred to have long tresses, so, presumably it was a term of her employment – a rather odd one at that. Most female teenagers wouldn't be going out in a dress unless it's something formal, but from the lack of handbag to hold cosmetics and other such accessories that women _always_ take to such events, I can only assume that it's some kind of uniform of some sort – she's clearly uncomfortable in it, which tells me that she's not used to wearing dresses, as would be expected given that she is an orphan and thus has little money of her own._ 'Tell me, does your employer happen to have a daughter?'

Hunter looked visibly startled. 'Yes, he does. She's studying in America at the University of Philadelphia. Sorry, how did you-'

'I am Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don't know' Percy interrupted, drumming his fingers furiously on the arm of his chair as he continued thinking – _the dress itself looks fairly new, clearly made for a younger woman, so obviously not from his wife…therefore, it must have belonged to his daughter studying in Philadelphia_. 'I'd wager that that dress belongs to his daughter as well.'

'Yes; is there a point to this line of thought, Mr Holmes?' Hunter asked, a little irritated by his non sequiturs.

'Yes. One more thing, Miss Hunter – what is Mr Rucastle's daughter's name?'

'Alice. Alice Rucastle.'

Percy nodded and pulled out his phone, tapping away for several minutes in silence, completely unaware of Artemis' furious glances and Hunter's flirtatious ones. 'Interesting, Ms Rucastle does not attend, nor has she ever attended, the University of Philadelphia' Percy said after a few minutes. 'I'm afraid that you may have been placed in great danger Ms Hunter; tell me, you bear more than a passing resemblance to the mysterious Ms Rucastle, do you not?'

'I – well, yes, from what I've seen in the photographs around the house. Why?'

'I'm afraid that you may have been duped into being a decoy for Ms Rucastle's stalker' he said brusquely. As Hunter paled – _she's not going into shock is she, oh wait, no she's just frightened…John isn't around and Artemis doesn't seem to like her for some reason, so I suppose comforting her falls to me…now how should I do it…_-, he reached out and gently covered her hand – _that's what John always does to comfort them, it seems to work _– and gently said, 'You need not worry, Ms Hunter; my associate and I will apprehend this stalker. In the meantime, you should resume your normal routine as if nothing has happened. Please leave your current address on your way out.'

'T-thank you' she whispered, suddenly throwing her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek. _Help me_, Percy mouthed to Artemis, who seemed torn between anger and amusement at his situation. As Hunter left, Percy turned to the former goddess, holding up the scrap of paper Violet had written her address on.

'It seems like we're going to somewhere known as the Copper Beeches.'

* * *

-Browner's flat-

'What do you think?' John asked the younger man as they walked in. As Bell made to reply, his face paled slightly as he pointed a quivering finger at the kitchen – more precisely, the kitchen floor. As John turned, he found himself also paling slightly as he saw the blood stains all over the floor; bits of what he recognised as brain matter were on the floor, as well as cardiac muscle. John frowned. _Browner was shot through the heart only, not the head…which means that someone else must have been killed here…however, a bullet through the head is not very likely to cause brain matter to fly out, in fact, the only thing I can really think of that would do that well would be bashing in the head repeatedly…in any case, it's clear that we should expect to find a-_

'There should be a second body' Bell interrupted his train of thought. 'We're looking at a double homicide here.'

'I agree with you' John said, flicking the lights on. 'Please open the blinds Detective Bell' he added as he crouched to the floor, snapping on a new pair of disposable gloves, careful not to actually touch the floor more than necessary. John pulled out his magnifier and peered through it closely.

'Judging from the dryness of those bloodstains, I'd say that whoever was the victim, they've been dead for about four hours' Bell commented.

'I agree. While you go and call your people in, I'm just going to search this flat, if that's fine with you?'

'It's fine; go ahead.'

Moving towards the bedroom, John noticed the growing trail of blood droplets on the floor. As he entered the room, he bit back his impulse to swear as he saw the bed – soaked through with blood, two ears lying on it – they seemed as if they had been _torn_ off. _Judging from the amount of blood, I'd say that Mr Browner was murdered here…yet the blood stains on the ground indicate that he was trying to get to his feet; he was probably roused by the sound of someone being beaten to death in this flat, but the killer sprang upon him before he could intervene, shooting Browner in the heart. _John gingerly bypassed the bed and inspected the wall – _ah, there it is, shell embedded inside the wall_.

John stepped back and looked around the bedroom as a whole for the first time – pillows were flung about, drawers were opened and rummaged through, clothes carelessly discarded on the floor – whoever killed Browner had obviously been searching for something, but what?Judging from the scuff marks on the door on this side, where it had been kicked out – John absently noted that it was about a size ten footprint – the killer hadn't found what they had come for. _Alright, if you were someone who had something to had, where you hide it_?, John pondered. 'Detective Bell!' he hollered. 'In here, please, and mind the blood on your way in; I suspect that our very own Mr Browner was murdered here judging from the amount of blood.'

As Bell looked around, John let him take in the scene, waiting for him patiently to come to his own conclusions. After a few minutes, the detective looked at him and suggested, 'You take the floor, and I'll check the drawers for any false bottoms?'

'Good idea' John nodded as he started his search by looking under the bed. _No loose floorboards here…or anywhere else in this room, for that matter_. Feeling the ribs of the bed frame, John frowned as his hand caressed something that was most definitely not wood. Sliding out from under the bed, he carefully heaved the mattress up; his hand darted outwards and snatched the item of interest. _A phone_, he mused. _How interesting…_

* * *

-Copper Beeches Estate-

Artemis crossed her arms as Holmes suddenly stopped walking, almost completely dead to the world. Judging from the way his eyes were dancing around in their sockets though, she knew what he was really doing was examining the ground for tracks. The former goddess smirked to herself – Holmes might be an excellent tracker now, but she had _taught_ him how to track – as she started scanning the ground. _Slight indentation there by the grass, tiny cloth threads caught on branches, which means..._ 'Hunter's stalker climbs onto this tree to view her when she is inside the house' she concluded.

'Hmm? Oh, yes. You're right, of course' Holmes nodded, and moved into the shade, seemingly melting away into the shadows so completely that no matter how hard she strained her eyes, she could just barely make out his form. Artemis sighed and followed suit; not a moment too soon, as it turned out; just as she too was hidden in the shade, the two of them made out a young man – perhaps twenty five or so – skulking along the road, making his way, slowly, but surely, towards the Copper Beeches estate. The former goddess glared at the man, eyes boring holes into him – people like him were why she had established the Hunt in the first place. As the man drew level with them, she got ready to knock him out, only to be beaten to the punch as Holmes moved out fluidly, baton concealed unobtrusively in his coat sleeve.

'Who are you, and why are you stalking Alice Rucastle?' he demanded, conspicuously extending his baton with a sharp click.

The man yelped in surprise and held his arms up in the universal gesture of peace. 'Stalking? What are you on about?'

'Stalking is a rather despicable crime…I'm sure the authorities won't look too kindly on that' Artemis spat out, finally moving out of the shadows, eyes blazing in fury.

'I'm not stalking my fiancée!'

'Fiancée, huh? Please, tell me more' Holmes prodded. _Holmes, what are you doing?_, Artemis demanded. _He's obviously a stalker – you said it yourself! Throw him into a cell and be done with it already._

_He's not lying_, he beamed back. _So this is not as clear-cut as it seems at first glance…it may be yet prove to be an interesting case after all. And before you ask – it's in his eyes, he was confident, held contact with me the entire time – not to mention the fact that his body language was open, unguarded-_ 'Stalkers commonly claim that their targets have a relationship with them that they do not' Artemis challenged the young man.

'I do!' the man – a Mr Fowler, judging from a cheap plastic ID card poking out of his pocket – protested, rummaging in his pocket. 'Here!' he exclaimed, shoving a small folded photograph into her hands. She accepted and unfolded it, slowly looking it over, dimly aware of Holmes leaning over her shoulder to glance at it as well. It was a photo of Fowler and a young woman who looked quite similar to Violet Hunter – in fact, she was certain that to determine who was who, one would have to be up close with the two of them. _Certainly, this proves that they _had_ a relationship, but not that they _do_ have one_, Artemis mused, and voiced this out loud.

'We didn't break up!' Fowler insisted.

'And, pray tell, why exactly should we believe you, _boy_?'

'Enough' Holmes sighed. 'He's telling the truth.'

'No, you _think_ he's telling the truth, because he's a _male_.'

'Sure, why not' the consulting detective dismissed. He reached out and tapped the photograph. 'The photograph is date stamped as being about two weeks ago; now, Mr Fowler hasn't seen his fiancée since then, you can read it off his posture – very stiff, tense, obviously, he's been worried about his fiancée's sudden lack of contact with him'. Holmes adopted a sudden child-like voice of wonder, 'But how do you know that Sherlock?', before dropping back into his normal vocal range and continuing, 'Because he just held up his phone in front of us showing a text conversation between himself and Ms Rucastle, and that's not cheating Artemis, it's being observant, which I thought _you_ of all people would do; but continuing - dark bags under his eyes, clothes not fitting despite obviously coming from a family with a substantial amount of wealth judging by the quality of his clothes and wristwatch – a rather recent Longines model, only out for about a month now – yet his attire, its sagging, loosely fitting on him, suggesting recent weight loss. Weight loss, weight loss from what? Clearly stress over his fiancée, so yes Artemis, I do think that he's telling the truth, in fact, I think that there is something deeper going here than either of us suspects, so why don't you drop your archaic misandrist view of the world and actually try to help me solve this case!'

As she and Fowler gaped in shock at his blistering tirade, the consulting detective turned back to Fowler and said apologetically, turning on his charm on to full blast, 'I'm sorry for my associate's behaviour, she has had a few bad experiences with the male gender. My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am a consulting detective for the NYPD and Scotland Yard, amongst others, you may have heard of me on the Internet, and I was recently hired to investigate your stalking activities regarding Ms Rucastle, which we now know to not be anything of the sort. With your permission, I'd like to help you discover what exactly is going on here, if you are amenable.'

* * *

-A few hours later-

After apprehending Mr Fowler, Percy had taken him along with himself and Artemis to a local café, interrogating him over several cappuccinos for everything he knew about Alice Rucastle and the Rucastle family in general. He glanced over at the notepad on which the seething former goddess had reluctantly deigned to scrawl the facts onto.

**Edward Rucastle, very protective of his daughter Alice, disapproves of Mr Fowler seeking her hand in marriage. Mr Rucastle has threatened to call the police on Mr Fowler for harassment should he show up on his estate again. Rucastle family very rich, much of it owing to Alice's deceased mother. Mr Rucastle has recently remarried, to a well-known socialite. Alice Rucastle is supported by a trust fund set up by her mother from birth, administered by her father.**

Percy frowned as the cogs in his mind began turning. _Yes_, he thought, _I have a rather good idea of what is happening…_ 'Thank you very much Mr Fowler, you've been extremely helpful' he said, getting up and dusting his coat for imaginary dust. 'I have a strong feeling that you will be reunited with your beloved soon enough, but for now, please wait here until I call for you' he smiled thinly, and left, Artemis grudgingly following him. As they arrived outside the Copper Beeches estate, Percy turned and took her in – _bright red cheeks, shaking hands, she looks rather angry at me, I need an excuse to enter the household, excellent!_ He turned his attention to the house – _no car parked out here, so, the only people in the household are his son and Ms Hunter, but just in case, we'll have to get in and out as fast as possible_.

'Punch me in the face' he demanded. Artemis gaped at him, wondering what bizarre world she had fallen into.

'Punch you?'

'Yes, punch me – in the face. Didn't you hear me?'

'I _always_ hear punch me in the face when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext.'

'Oh for-' Percy broke off and jabbed her in the stomach with his baton. _That should do it_, he thought in satisfaction as he slid the weapon back into his coat pocket. _How sweet, you don't want to damage that pretty face of hers_, mind-Mycroft suddenly spoke up, making him freeze in consternation as he struggled to formulate a reply. _What-_

As a result, he never even saw the fist coming onto his cheek, bowling him onto the ground. As he slowly got up, he smiled brightly, somehow not noticing the fact that Artemis was still breathing rather heavily. 'Thank you, that was-'

Artemis howled and jumped on top of him. 'You – forget – Holmes – when – I was a – goddess – I killed men – just for being men' she panted out as she tried to strangle him.

'You tolerate me!' he protested as he tried to throw her off without hurting her – _How gallant of you_, mind-Mycroft snarked.

'I have bad days!'

As Percy eventually bucked her off, he paused and looked at her in confusion even as she made to attack him again. 'Wait!' he called out. 'One question – just one question, before you attack me' he pleaded. Artemis paused, waiting for him. 'When you said that…did you mean it's your time of month?' he questioned, absolutely serious. Seeing Artemis' stunned expression, he continued, 'If you're going to be mad at me, well, more mad than usual, you could at least do me the courtesy of letting me know when it _is_ time for your obligatory blood loss so that I can synchronise my schedule around it. It would be greatly appreciated'. Deciding that wasn't worthy of a response, the former goddess growled and jumped at him again.

* * *

-A few minutes later-

Sufficiently roughed up, the pair waited outside patiently as they rang the doorbell. After perhaps half a minute, an eye appeared at the peephole – probably the housekeeper, Percy guessed; the eye colour didn't match Ms Hunter's, at any rate. 'What are you doing here?' she demanded.

'I was in the area, and I seem to have been mugged' he said faux-tearfully. 'Please, will you let me in and call the police?'

After a brief pause, the door opened; Percy snapped his fingers at the housekeeper, giving her a ticket to a thirty minute stay in the realm of Morpheus. 'Ms Hunter?' he called out as he carried the collapsed woman and dumped her unceremoniously into a sofa; dimly, he noticed Artemis closing the door behind them. 'I need to speak with you urgently, if you please!'

'I was wondering, does your employer keep a room – or more, that he doesn't let you into?' He questioned.

'Well, yes, he keeps a few rooms that he uses as a photographic darkroom' Violet admitted. 'Some of the compounds and things are rather sensitive and require careful handling apparently, so I'm not allowed in.'

'Excellent!' Percy proclaimed. 'Lead us to it if you please Ms Hunter, I'm afraid that a grave felony has taken place in this very household, which you have unwittingly enabled.'

Hunter gaped at him and led the way soundlessly, without even one of those flirtatious glances that had dominated their prior conversation; Percy idly noticed that Artemis seemed inexplicably happy about something, though he sensed that if he pressed her on it, he'd probably receive another fist to the face. 'Here' Hunter proclaimed, stopping outside a door; Percy tested the knob and found that it was locked. _Time to pick the lock_, he decided, already mentally selecting the best pick for the job. After half a minute or so of tinkering, the trio heard a faint _click_ and Percy opened the door.

'Alice Rucastle?' he called out, hoping his leap of faith had worked. 'Alice Rucastle?' he said again. His eyes widened as he saw a small quivering mass that was, unmistakeably, a person, tied down and gagged. Striding over slowly, not wanting to alarm the obviously frightened woman, he gently untied her and removed the gag from her mouth. 'You're safe now' he said reassuringly, like one did a startled animal. 'I won't let your father hurt you again.'

'T-thank you' she whispered, her too-thin limbs trembling as she tried to stand up; instinctively, Percy and Artemis reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her.

'Let's report this to the local police, now shall we?' Percy asked, before fumbling in his pocket for his phone and offering it to the distraught Ms Rucastle. 'Oh, before I forget, you really should call your fiancée, he's been rather worried about you this past fortnight.'

* * *

'Do you want to explain what all that was about?' Artemis asked him as they strode away from the police station.

'When I saw the photo Mr Fowler gave us, I noticed several things; first of all, Alice Rucastle in fact had two rings – one was her engagement ring, matching that of Fowler's own on his ring finger; the other one, curiously was strung onto a necklace. Now, the ring looked to be an antique; very clear signs, _if_ you know what you're looking for-'

'Of course.'

'- so, I deduced it was her mother's engagement ring; generally, people would save antique wedding rings for their own weddings. Why her mother's? Because the father would have kept his – sentiment, if nothing else. From the way she's fingering it, we can tell that she had a very close relationship to her mother – why, you might ask? Well, she just got engaged, it should be one of the happiest days of her life, and she's thinking about her mother? Clearly, they were very close whilst she was still alive. From the information Mr Fowler gave us, the Rucastle's family wealth is substantially based upon Alice's mother's family fortune – therefore, given their obviously close relationship, it's not too much of a leap then to presume that her mother would have set up various safeguards and insurance policies for her only child in the event of her death – a smart move, that's what I would have done if I had any children.'

'Clearly' Artemis said, head swimming as she tried to keep up.

'Yes. Now, one such safeguard, as Mr Fowler mentioned to us, was a certain trust fund set up for her daughter from birth, which is administered by her father, and used to support her. Now, I have it on good authority – that is, Google – that Mr Rucastle has never worked a day in his life, being supported by his family's – and later, his wife's wealth-'

'What's Google?'

'…I'll have to introduce you to technology later if you're going to be of any assistance in my investigations. _As I was saying_, Mr Rucastle supports himself using his inherited wealth. Now, he has recently married a socialite, who is rather famed for throwing and attending upper scale parties for the blue blooded in-breds of society; I've taken the liberty of contacting one of my technology specialists, a Mr Jimmy Huang, who got me the catering list for one such event – the bill for that was outstanding to say the least, in the seven figure ballpark easily. With such an expensive lifestyle, and with not much income to speak of, it's then not too far of a leap to assume that to support this new extravagant lifestyle, he would draw upon the trust fund intended for his daughter.'

'I'm not sure I follow; she's clearly an adult now, wouldn't she be managing it?'

'Actually, I had a look at the contract – courtesy of Mr Huang, once again – and the grist of it is that her father will oversee the fund: payments, investments, and all – until she is married, at which point, responsibility for the fund's management passes to her. Now then, clearly he has an incentive to keep her from getting married – that was why he disapproved of his daughter's suitor, Mr Fowler, and that's why he imprisoned her, and threatened to call the police on Fowler should he be found on the grounds again! At the same time, clearly aware of the natural hormonal callings that are particular strong in youths, he knew that threat wouldn't have deterred Fowler for long; hence why he hired Ms Hunter at such notice, paying her such an exorbitant salary for the admittedly troublesome and rather thankless job of being a babysitter. By hiring her and having her change her appearance to match that of his daughter's, he could have her effectively impersonate his imprisoned child; this little performance was intended to have Fowler believe that Alice Rucastle no longer wanted anything to do with him – unfortunately for Mr Edward Rucastle, Hunter sensed that she was being – pardon the pun – hunted, and hired us – well, me.'

Artemis blinked. _That was-_

'Elementary.'

She immediately abandoned her mental praise and settled for glaring at her…colleague's…seeming immodesty.

* * *

-NYPD station, 11th Precinct-

'I really don't see why I need to be here, Captain Gregson' Cushing huffed as she slid into her seat, facing Detective Bell, Captain Gregson and John, who was tapping away on his phone.

'Just some questions madam' he rumbled, motioning for Detective Bell to take point.

'You lied to us when you said that you didn't know Jim Browner' he asserted, levelling her with a piercing gaze; with his steepled hands, John couldn't help but think that – in terms of demeanour and deductive ability, at least – Bell was a younger, less developed version of Percy. _He's right, Detective Joseph Bell will indeed have a glittering career ahead of him…_

'I resent that implication.'

'So you deny, then, unequivocally, of knowing of the recently deceased man called Jim Browner, and of contacting him in any way?'

'Absolutely.'

'Well, I think you'll want to see this then' Bell smiled thinly, suddenly brandishing the phone that they had found in Browner's flat. Deftly, his fingers tapped out on the phone's screen, bringing up a video that he promptly played. John glanced away in embarrassment; seeing the video once was enough.

'OH, Jim, yes, give me more-' blared from the speakers, before Bell tactfully closed the video.

'You just denied knowing anything about Mr Browner - unequivocally' he said calmly. 'I guess you were just lying to cover up the fact that you were sleeping with him; an understandable sentiment, I suppose, but obstruction of justice nevertheless – you're going to be looking to be serving at least a couple of years in prison, and that's getting off lightly; we take obstruction of justice and perjury very seriously. The alternative, however, would entail some light community service for a few months, in exchange for you telling us everything.'

'No need' John announced, finally looking up from his phone. 'I believe I know exactly what is going on here. Miss Sarah Cushing does indeed know everything; however, she is _not_ the person in that video.'

'Explain' Bell said, already reaching into his coat pocket for his notebook.

'Observe the tiny scars on her head – it's just barely covered by her bangs, but this is a fairly high definition video, so easy to make them out _if_ you know what they are; they're scars from an operation – trepanning to relieve intracranial pressure, if I am not mistaken; definitely some neurosurgical procedure, at any rate. And yet, notice how on Sarah Cushing's head, there are no scars at all. A quick Facebook check shows that she has a sister, a twin in fact, named Susan Cushing, who happens to bear these scars. We just received a report from your IT people; reading the late Mr Browner's email correspondence, we see that he sent an email containing this very video to _Sarah_ Cushing's ex-husband's email. Interestingly, her ex-husband has had a history of violence, and has anger management issues; he is also an amateur weightlifter, very strong, who happens to have a gun license. Inference: Susan Cushing, used her sister's name during her trysts with Mr Browner; to brag about his sexual prowess, Browner emails the video to _Sarah_'s ex-husband. The husband snaps; he kills both Susan Cushing and Browner after their latest tryst, mistaking her for his ex-wife. Now, given their closeness, Sarah's ex-husband quickly deduced that _Susan_ must have known about their relationship, and sent it to the house – you'll notice that the twins actually happen to live together. As for why _this_ Ms Cushing was lying to us, well, it's quite simple – her wedding and engagement bands are currently strung on her necklace, you can make out the bulge faintly through her blouse. Now, clearly, she still loves him; ergo, she's hiding her ex-husband's crime, and most likely is trying to explain the situation to him.'

He suddenly held out a different phone.

'That's mine-'

'I just happened to find this lying on the ground; would you like me to see what it contains, or would you like to revise your testimony, Ms Cushing?'

* * *

-An hour later-

As Cushing continued spouting out her testimony, John's phone began to ring insistently. He glanced at the screen; caller ID: Sherlock Holmes. He picked up. 'Hello? What's wrong, you never call-'

'It's Artemis. She's been shot. Meet me at New York University's Langone Medical Centre, post-haste' Percy spat out in a choked voice, and ended the call. John frowned. Had Percy been…_crying?_

* * *

-Outside NYU Langone Medical Centre, a little while earlier-

Moriarty was bored. When Moriarty was bored, he focused on playing with his latest obsession, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. The sniper had been paid to put one of Holmes' companions into the ICU, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Staring at the duo through his binoculars, he wondered briefly whether he could shoot someone else – that woman beside the consulting detective looked far too exquisite, far too beautiful to destroy…at least without savouring her first. Briefly, he wondered if he could shoot Holmes instead, before shaking his head, dismissing the notion as quickly as it had floated into his mind. Moriarty had been _very_ clear that Holmes was not to be harmed. He slowly adjusted his rifle, licking his lips in anticipation; he loved this, the thrill of the hunt, the feel of the gun in his hands, its snug fit, its perfect balance as he entered a zen-like state. He knew exactly where he would put the bullet, and exactly what would happen to his target. In that moment, Sebastian Moran, the perfect assassin, the best at Moriarty's disposal, was God. He relaxed, envisioning his bullet's journey through time and space, its path towards the body where it would perform a simple, yet life altering act of surgery.

* * *

Percy gestured at the door. 'Do you know how to pick locks?' he asked his companion.

'Why are we here?' Artemis sighed, at this point, just resigned to her…colleague's…antics.

'Because I want to visit my friend Molly, and I don't want to use the front entrance.'

'You do realise there are people looking at us?'

'Correction – they're looking at _you_, most likely the most beautiful woman they are ever likely to meet in their entire lives. Now, can you pick locks?'

'It's been a while' Artemis shrugged, feeling her face starting to burn. 'But I have no interest in playing this…whatever game you're playing' she snapped, snatching his keys to the medical centre from his pocket. She shoved him aside and moved closer to the door, and paused, trying to figure out which key was the right one.

Percy's phone buzzed with a text; on instinct, he looked at it.

**Dear me, Percy, dear me. Your move. Let's see how you deal with this.**

A sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cold enveloped him in an icy shell; time stopped. For that single moment, single instant in time, the world stood still to him, completely silent. As time suddenly resumed, a single gunshot rang out.

_Moriarty_.

* * *

As Artemis stood in front of the door, she cast a regretful look at Holmes; instinctively, she began to reach out to help him up before turning her attention back to the keys in her hand. Finding the right key, she inserted it into the lock and twisted it. As the door swung open, she took a half-step forward, before pausing, wobbling in place. She felt as if something had punched her in the back, almost directly on her heart. The floor seemed to be running away from her too; suddenly slanting. _Was this a prank?_, she wondered. _Had Holmes arranged for the floor to become part escalator?_

As she fell to the ground, she felt something wet, rapidly spreading across her shirt. Trembling, she reached out with her hand and touched it. It was blood, she realised. Intellectually, she knew that she had been shot, that she was dying. The world seemed to spin as she felt herself being flipped; suddenly, she found herself facing the sky. And then she saw him, and she knew that everything was going to be all right after all. Deep piercing, soulful sea green eyes, peering deep into her own silver orbs for a single instant in time. A slight frown creased her face. They seemed overbright – was he crying, crying for her? He looked so vulnerable, so beautiful…like a fallen angel, she mused, laughing inside at the analogy – she was certain that had she said that to him out loud, he would have mocked her for it. Artemis reached out and tried to caress his face, tried to tell him that it would be all right. Her hand flopped to the ground; she wasn't breathing anymore.

She felt no pain. Nothing but exhaustion and resignation. Involuntarily, her eyes began to slide shut; she panicked – there was so much she had wanted to tell him, so many things she had meant to say to him always, but never had…and now, she realised, she would never get to say them to him, never tell him how much she appreciated him, cared about him, valued him…

Artemis' eyes closed.

**As those of you who have read the Sherlock Holmes canon would have no doubt deduced, the canon cases that I picked to try and adapt were The Adventure of the Copper Beeches and The Adventure of the Cardboard Box :). Anyway, this may be the last chapter for a while, as I am going to start my first year of university in a couple of weeks, and so I'll probably be quite busy preparing for that; however, I am doing my best to get out the next chapter ASAP. If all goes well, that chapter should be out within a week. In concluding, as ever, please read and leave your thoughts in a review. **

**Ever yours, **

**ApocalypticPhoenix**


	9. The Hound of Tartarus

Disclaimer: Same as Chapter 1

* * *

Chapter 9: The Hound of Tartarus

-Outside emergency room-

The moment the surgeons had wheeled Artemis inside, Percy had made liberal use of the Mist to mask himself and strode in after them. They were competent enough but they were moving so slowly; he could tell from the way that the residents hands trembled ever so slightly as they intubated her for auto-transfusion that they had never dealt with something of this magnitude like this before. He bit back the desire to punch the operating surgeon's completely lackadaisical approach to the entire situation – he was acting as if this was nothing more than a routine cadaver dissection, rather than a real live patient! _But she's not just any patient, now is she?_ the voices in his mind chorused. _To you, she's the most important person in the world…_

Percy tactfully ignored the voices and focused on the surgeon as he casually glanced her over and started working slowly, seemingly ignoring her drastically dropping blood pressure. This apathetic approach continued right up to when Artemis started flat-lining; the surgeon started manual chest compressions even as the nurses wheeled a crash trolley over. All that seemed to accomplish was send small, fading spurts of blood out of her chest. Percy shivered as her body was held down and they placed the electrodes on her – he had forgotten how grotesque it looked when the human body was electrocuted back to life. After a few more half-hearted attempts at defibrillation, the surgeon stepped back and looked at the clock.

"Looks like she's dead; bullet must have gone straight through her heart. Time of death-" He started.

Percy snapped, and wove magic around himself once more; his suit was replaced with standard issue scrubs, a surgical mask and hair net covered his face as he walked in and punched the surgeon in the face; with a grim satisfaction, he felt the man's nose shattering. "You imbecile!" he roared out, eyes already roving over her body.

'_Hole is approximately half a centimetre to the left of the sternum, therefore, it should have _just _missed her heart, no serious damage to that organ, so therefore, all that blood has to be coming from an artery, the bullet must have nicked it on its way through her; ergo, we need to open her up.' _

The scalpel seemed to almost _leap_ into his hand. Taking a deep breath, he moved his hand, hovering precariously over her sternum, and made a precise cut, like the ones he had used to perform so many years ago. 'Retractor!' he called out; a few seconds later – _a few seconds too long_, his mind whispered – they were slapped into his hand. Without hesitation, he inserted them in and spread them. He held back the urge to break down as he saw her internal organs, and forced her blood to flow in the only possible way he could at the moment – internal cardiac massage. Gently, he squeezed her heart with his left hand; a tiny spurt of blood welled out of an artery, just to the side of her heart. "You, squeeze her heart," he commanded, "we need to make sure her body is as oxygenated as possible so she doesn't suffer any brain damage".

As they hesitated, looking at the surgeon he had punched in the face for instructions, he roared out, "DO IT!"

As the shocked resident moved and began to numbly squeeze her heart, Percy found a needle already in his hand; he spared the nurse a brief nod of thanks and set to work, hands and needle weaving her artery back into a whole blood vessel. After perhaps a minute of him feverishly suturing her artery back together, he stood back and relaxed minutely. It was shoddy work, he knew, nothing compared to what he could have done back when he had still been a foundation doctor, but it would do, it would hold till she got to more skilled surgeons. He glanced at the clock; only one and a bit, maybe two minutes since she had flat-lined. _Good, brain cells only began to die after about three to four minutes at room temperature; therefore, her mental faculties should still be intact…hopefully…_

He grabbed the electrodes.

"Charging" he called out.

He pressed them to her chest.

"Clear!"

Miraculously, she started hacking, coughing hoarsely. And then her chest began to rise and fall. Still not pausing for a second, Percy sutured her chest back together. As Percy sighed in relief and began to move away, the surgeon he'd punched earlier moved in front of him aggressively, hand clapped over his bleeding…well, he didn't exactly have much of a nose anymore. "Who are you? Who do you think you are?"

Percy levelled him with a merciless glare. "I know that I'm _not_ an M.D – that stands for 'massive dick', by the way. I'm the man that just did you the biggest favour one doctor can do for another. I'm the person who stopped you from killing your patient. If you're not prepared to fully commit to the job, then do us all a favour, and _get out_, before you end up killing somebody else."

-Outside Artemis' room, a day later-

John patted his friend's shoulder awkwardly, trying not to notice the red-rimmed eyes; in all the time that they had known each other, he had never seen such an overt display of emotion – perhaps the closest prior to this had been the time Percy had thrown a CIA agent out of the window multiple times. Even then, though, his impassive mask had been fixed tightly in place, never lapsing for even a second…not like this. Calling in a favour from Hecate to weave the Mist around him, his friend had barely managed to avoid litigation for assault, wiping his intervention away from everyone in the building, save for himself and the surgeon he'd punched – leaving everyone else in the emergency operating room wondering how a restrained patient had ever managed to punch said surgeon in the nose. The pair of consulting detectives had since spent their time at Artemis' bedside, waiting impatiently for the doctors to arrive and try to bring her out of her morphine induced coma. Just in case Percy felt tempted to relapse, John subtly placed himself next to the IV stand. Seeing his friend – his _best_ friend gazing desperately, almost tearfully at Artemis, John felt like an intruder, yet neither could he tear himself away. After all, Percy crying was the probably the equivalent of a normal person starting to enter a mental breakdown.

He cleared his throat – he had to do _something_ to banish that awkward silence!

"So, you, uh, operated on her?" John asked him.

"Yes, didn't I tell you that before?"

"The doctors have mentioned that _somehow_, whilst restrained, Artemis punched her attending physician in the face."

"She's a very resourceful person."

"Was that _really_ necessary?"

"Oh, forget him, he's an idiot." Percy snarked, eyes flicking over to the monitors she was linked up to – reading them almost hesitantly, John realised.

"How come you never told me you're an Oxford medicine graduate? And why does no one seem to know about it? With our recent Internet popularity, surely someone would have stumbled across it…"

"It never exactly came up as a topic of discussion. Molly and a few others know; Mycroft. And before you ask how I got all those degrees done in time, well, I do have a superior intellect compared against humanity in general."

"So what made you quit being a doctor? I can tell that those sutures were expertly done – you're obviously a very practised surgeon, with a sizeable amount of clinical experience seeing how quickly you acted to save her – and with your mental capacity, you could have been a brilliant doctor. What happened to make you become a detective instead?" John fired out, desperately hoping for his partner to show something – anything, other than…. than this growing listlessness.

Before Percy could say anything, the door slid open and a resident moved in, squeaking slightly as Percy fixed his eyes on him; unblinking and completely unresponsive to the resident as he tentatively said hello. "We're going to be bringing her out of the coma today" the resident squeaked out, cowering back as the door banged open; Moron (as Percy dubbed the attending physician in the ER) stormed in.

John frowned at him – this was a hospital, not a bar, and any half-baked doctor, hell, even an intern should know better than to be so unprofessional and loud in a healing environment. _I can certainly see why Percy detests him, at any rate_.

"I don't know what the hell you did, but no one seems to believe that you hit me." Moron shouted, before noticing John – more specifically, the way John's hand was resting on Percy's shoulder. "What do you guys call each other? Husband? Partner? Lover? You bastards make me sick."

The two demigods exchanged amused glances with each other – after all, weren't _all_ demigods bastards? John winced slightly as Percy turned his gaze onto Moron, gaze sharpening into a murderous glower. He thought about trying to defuse the situation, before remembering that Moron had nearly killed Artemis with his incompetence, and that judging from the tension practically screaming from Percy's back muscles, he _really_ needed something cathartic. He stepped back slightly and watched the fireworks as they exploded.

"You know, Moron, just when I thought you couldn't possibly be any more of an idiot than I already thought you were, you go ahead and do this. Did your mother not consult a doctor before you were born? Did she have no choice but to give birth to you? I can't believe that out of the millions of sperm that could have impregnated your mother, yours was the one that won the lottery."

"That was a bit harsh, don't you think?" John said mildly as Moron stormed out, body shaking, face pale after several minutes of Percy's blistering tirade. He elaborated, "He might be completely incompetent, but I doubt he'd want a dead patient on his hands."

"Cancer cells don't mean to suffocate healthy ones, they just do." Percy shrugged off, still staring at Artemis desperately.

A few minutes later, Molly burst in, having apparently heard from Moron that her 'boyfriend' had punched him in the face.

"He deserved it." Percy defended himself. "A doctor not fully committed to their job is nothing more than a liability to their patients."

Molly looked at him, the way he was gazing at the fallen goddess in a fiercely protective manner, like a mother tiger its cubs, and decided to drop the topic.

-A few hours later-

Artemis' eyes fluttered open slowly; she found herself staring up at a blank white ceiling. She winced as, almost immediately, a sudden flare of pain ignited on her chest. She hissed painfully, even as the monitors around her started beeping loudly. In her peripheral vision, she could just faintly make out Percy and John stirring from their chairs – and, she realised with a sudden cold chill, that pretty doctor she had briefly met before at Christmas, Molly, was sitting next to him, holding his hand. The next moment, Percy was standing right next to her; for a moment she read raw concern on his face, only for it to be replaced by the distant mask she had become acquainted with over the past month or so.

"How is the pain Artemis?" he asked, squeezing her hand soothingly, the way he had once done, almost a lifetime ago it seemed; in the background, she could see Molly's jaw dropping whilst John gave his partner a considering look.

She tilted her head and focused on the man's face, ignoring the pain that seemed to flare up as she saw his eyes – distant, closed off to her. "Like fire." She managed to get out. "It burns."

"That's to be expected given the fact that I – they had to cut your chest open." Percy muttered, head whipping back and forth almost feverishly to the monitors, then to her.

"How about the area around your heart, is it throbbing, or anything?"

"No." She said after a moment. Percy nodded, and after a few more minutes of questioning, had finally decided that it was safe enough to allow her some morphine. As she began to feel drowsy and he began to pull away, she tightened her grip on his hand.

"Don't go." She pleaded. After a moment, he nodded, and pulled his chair a little closer.

As the mysterious woman's eyes closed, Molly raised an eyebrow at Percy. "I see you operated on her – what happened?" she asked him, taking the direct route.

"Let's just say that the surgeon who was _supposed_ to be working on her is a complete and utter idiot," Percy sighed, "I had to intervene."

Molly nodded, soaking in the information and asked him suddenly "Is she your girlfriend?"

"You think she's my girlfriend because I operated on her? If that's the case, there's a few hundred women back in the UK from when I was doing my obstetrics rotations…"

Molly smiled slightly as he deflected the question; she could see from the way he had so easily reverted back into his doctor persona that he really cared for this woman, whoever she was.

_Maybe…_

"You're an amazing detective Percy, but I think you were a better doctor." She said honestly.

The male demigod turned to look at her, still keeping Artemis in his peripheral vision, and said simply,

"Thanks".

-Unknown-

Jim Moriarty smiled as he viewed the video footage. _I can definitely use this…but first, let's see how dearest Sherlock reacts to my next play…_Smirk growing across his face into a full blown grin, until he could barely hold in the urge to burst into hysterical laughter, he forwarded the video onwards.

In another location, dead, icy blue eyes, similar to that of a shark's floating aimlessly through the ocean snapped towards their owner's phone.

**Have fun! – JM**

Slight frown creasing their brow, they started to play the video.

-British Consulate General New York-

Mycroft looked up from his laptop as Percy suddenly rose out of the shadows in front of him. "What do you want?" The elder Holmes asked.

"Moriarty declared war on me, that's what happened" Percy snarled out.

"He took the fight to my companions, made it personal. What I want, Mycroft, is your complete assistance."

The elder Holmes' eyes narrowed as he studied his sibling. "Very well, if we don't remove him now, he'll grow to become a bigger threat anyway one day. Have a seat, and brother dear, do tell me everything if you want my assistance."

Percy pulled over a chair and said, "Jim Moriarty is…"

-New York Residence -

It had been about a month since Artemis had been shot, three weeks since she had been discharged from the hospital, and two weeks since Percy had felt comfortable enough to allow her outside of their house. During the time that she had spent confined in his house, Percy had made it his personal mission to educate her on the wonders of technology, especially the Internet, and after the initial few stumbling blocks, she had taken to it right away. To his great pleasure and surprise once she had started joining himself and John on their cases, some of their deductive prowess seemed to be rubbing off on her; she was certainly much more perceptive than she had been before.

Artemis looked up from her laptop as Percy stormed in and did a double take. "You walked here across half of New York like that?" John asked as he took in his partner's appearance: bloodstained face and shirt, matted hair and an incongruously crisp pair of business trousers – classic symptoms of sheer boredom.

And, incongruously, holding a bloodstained harpoon.

"None of the cabs would take me!" He snarled out; Artemis couldn't help but feel her lips quirking up in amusement as she saw his petulant glower.

-Half an hour-

Percy was petulantly walking around the living room, glaring outside at the suburbia every few minutes or so. "Look at it," he said despondently the fiftieth time he was standing at the window, "Calm, peaceful….quiet…it's so…monotonous…"

A stabbing pain shot through his head; Percy winced, gingerly feeling his head. For some reason, he'd been having some pains in his head lately…moving with a sudden energy that belied his previous lethargy, Percy jumped onto the coffee table and crouched on it, staring at John, harpoon still in hand.

"John, I need some, get me some!"

To his credit, John's composure never wavered despite the harpoon being brandished in his face. Nonchalantly turning the page of his newspaper, the son of Apollo made his reply rather short.

"No."

"Get me some!"

"No!"

Percy screamed and drew back his arm, Artemis dived behind her armchair, whilst John remained perfectly still; Percy threw the harpoon into the wall.

"I_ need a case!_' he howled out.

"You've just solved one! By, harpooning a pig, apparently!" Artemis shouted back, wincing as she felt her side; there was definitely going to be some light bruising there in the morning.

"That was this morning!" He whined, pacing back to the window.

"When's the next-" Percy broke off as his senses suddenly screamed that some divine beings were outside his front doorstep – demigods, judging from the strength of their auras. _Maybe they have something interesting_, he hoped as he bounded towards the front door, suddenly brimming with an endless fervour. Not checking to see who his visitor was, he opened the door, lips curling into what was supposed to be a charming smile. Said smile immediately shrivelled and died as he recognised the four people there to see him – well, to be honest, there was only one person he was displeased to see.

"You three, get in, you, get out." He snarked and walked back in, leaving the door open.

As Thalia and Phoebe made small talk with Artemis, and, reluctantly, John, the other two visitors – Nico and Will Solace were looking at Percy, completely nonplussed at the way he cradled his legs, assuming the foetal position, rocking back and forth.

"Did…we come at a bad time?" Solace asked his demigod brother tentatively.

"No, in fact you had perfect timing" John said in reply.

"Percy, this is getting a bit embarrassing now…" he trailed off as he realised Percy was now playing Minesweeper on his laptop. Sighing, John grabbed the man's MacBook Pro and snapped it firmly shut.

"They wouldn't have come if it wasn't urgent."

"The world stands on the brink of destruction every day; if people just accepted that, then they'd live a much more carefree life!" The son of Poseidon pouted, reluctantly seating himself.

"I think twenty times my normal rate will do." He shot at his visitors. John delicately raised an eyebrow at him.

_You don't _have_ a normal rate_, he pointed out.

_I know, remind me to make one up before they leave_, Percy beamed back. The Son of Poseidon turned his attention back to his 'clients' just in time to see them gaping.

"Y-you want _more_ money?" Phoebe shouted at him.

"I don't _want_ money, but it pays the bills" the demigod shrugged back, fingers steepling into the prayer position. "Now what do you want?" he demanded. As she opened her mouth, Percy wagged his finger at her.

"No, not you" he admonished, turning to Thalia expectantly; after a few seconds of quiet chuckling, she regained her composure and looked at him seriously.

"We were sent to investigate-"

"Mmm, not interested. Moving on,"

"- the activity of monsters around L.A. –"

"Go contact the Roman demigods, I'm busy." Percy sighed, moving towards the kitchen.

"I think I'm in the mood for pizza tonight!"

"And maybe we would, if they were in any condition to help." Thalia sighed; the only signs of her irritation were her fists clenching and the tiny sparks that started to dancing around her. Percy paused as he opened the fridge door, waiting expectantly.

Sensing that he was hooked, Thalia continued, "They were attacked yesterday by an army of monsters."

"That's what demigods _do_, they get attacked by monsters for no reason other than because they exist – so do get to the point, Thalia."

"From what we've managed to glean from Jason and Piper, the army was led by something huge: coal-black fur, with glowing red eyes….."

"Hellhound?" John suggested.

"Or a genetic experiment." Percy shrugged, turning back to his pizza.

Ducking his head inside, he called out, "Do you want pepperoni or not, John, Artemis?"

"Are you laughing at us, Percy?" Solace demanded.

"Why, are you joking?"

"I'm not sure you can help us, Percy, since you find this all so _funny_." Will growled out, standing up. Thalia shook her head at the son of Apollo and motioned for him to sit back down.

"When we got the call for aid, the gods flashed us to Camp Jupiter as fast as possible…" Thalia paused and shivered, which caused Percy to suddenly focus on her – she was one of the most fearless people she knew, so this definitely piqued his interest. "…the army was gone by the time we got there, so we just assisted in the clean-up and treating the wounded…but when we were examining the battlefield…we found footprints."

"Yes, Thalia, generally things with feet leave footprints, they could mean anything, therefore, nothing. Now if you're done wasting our time, there's the door." he sighed, about to spin around and go back to the fridge.

"Percy, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" She shouted at him. The male demigod paused, foot still half-raised in the air. Slowly, he turned back, eyes suddenly darkening into a murderous gleam.

"Say that again." He whispered softly.

'We went to Camp Jupiter to help out-'

"No, your exact words, exactly as you said not a minute ago." He interrupted, jumping onto the coffee table so that he was right in front of her.

"_What. Did. You. Say"_'

She blinked at his sudden proximity, and said slowly, "They…were the footprints…of a gigantic…hound."

"Size of the footprints." He demanded, "How large were they?"

Thalia hesitated, glancing back at Nico, who spoke up, "We didn't measure them, but they were at least as large as Cerberus', if not more."

_Cerberus never leaves the Underworld, therefore, he could not have made those tracks, and in any case, he is loyal to the Olympians, and I don't see my uncle ordering him to attack Camp Jupiter for no reason_, Percy frowned. _It couldn't be…but if it is…_

"Said Hound also managed to incapacitate most of the gods defending Camp Jupiter and New Rome." Thalia added, sensing that his interest was well and truly piqued. "Hazel, Frank, Reyna…even Piper couldn't take it down."

"I'll help you hunt it down and find it.' He announced.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, it seems very promising."

_Percy, what's going on?_, John sent out, just as Artemis beamed over to him.

_A minute ago, these footprints were boring; now they're very promising?_

Ignoring both of them, Percy strode to his room, and shouted back to them, "Yes!"

Long since resigned to his habit of deflecting questions, they sighed and went to their rooms to pack.

-Camp Jupiter-

John looked around them; just like Thalia had said, massive, unmistakeably canine footprints dotted the earth on the Field of Mars. They were enormous; John estimated that whatever hound made those prints could easily quash Percy's New York house – the depth of those prints was at least one metre! He frowned as he saw that the tracks abruptly stopped as they reached the Little Tiber.

"What do you make of these tracks?" Percy asked, looking directly at Artemis.

She shrugged, and bent down a little closer to study the footprints, delicately inhaling through her nose.

"Nothing you don't already know," she said finally, "A huge canine creature was here, then it disappeared after facing down Jason and Piper."

"Brilliant," he told her. At her frown, he added, "Really. I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but well done."

She sighed and flapped her hand at him.

"Get it over with."

He pointed across the Little Tiber. "What do you see?"

"Flat bare ground, but I don't think that's what you wanted me to see."

"Actually, that's _exactly_ what I wanted you to see. Now, even for a hound the size of Cerberus, a leap across the Little Tiber wouldn't be enough to carry it out of sight; therefore, it must have left tracks after passing through the Tiber. A glance at the land across the river, however, shows us no tracks at all. Thus, we can safely conclude that the hound we are pursuing has a method of travel similar to that of flashing. Artemis, you got shot through the chest, not through the brain," He sighed, "You're better than this."

The former goddess bristled at the reminder of how very close she had come to death and was about to shout at him when she remembered what John had said to her a few weeks ago when he had forced Percy out of the house on a case, citing that it was 'unhealthy and frankly a bit creepy' that he hadn't left her bedside since the shooting.

_Artemis raised an eyebrow at John as he checked for the fifth time that Percy was gone. "What did you need to say to me that you couldn't with him here?" she asked, gratefully accepting the Ibuprofen John offered her. _

"_I know that…the two of you have your issues," he said tentatively as she focused her gaze on him, "And I have no intention of getting involved in them, it is after all none of my business, but as his friend, and, I hope, yours, I won't let you two continue to hurt each other by continuing…whatever it is that's happening between the two of you."_

"I_ hurt him?" she said incredulously. _

"_I'm sorry, Watson, but he was the one that said we were colleagues, not friends," She said coldly, "I didn't choose for us to be estranged."_

"_He said that?" John said in surprise._

"_I thought, because of…" he trailed off as he remembered how Percy had told him, in no uncertain terms, to _not_ tell Artemis about how he had operated on her. _She deserves to know, though_, he mused. _

"_Because of what?" She demanded. _

"_I thought…I thought, well, I suppose it's a bit ridiculous, but I was under the impression that the two of you were very good friends ten years ago…and even now."_

"_People change," Artemis shrugged, silver eyes piercing her nephew, "But that wasn't what you were going to say."_

_John hesitated, he could imagine Percy being angry at him if he ever found out about him telling her…but on the other hand, Artemis had more than earned her reputation as a man hating goddess, and judging from the way she was glaring at him, she wouldn't take kindly to any deflections. Almost as if she had infiltrated his mind, she casually pulled out her knives, pointing them at his nether regions. _

_John gulped, and cracked. "The person who operated on you and saved your life wasn't me like he told you…it was him."_

_Artemis blinked in surprise at the confession, momentarily taken aback. "That changes nothing, he was just doing his duty," she rationalised. "I doubt even he would want Zeus angry at him."_

"_Which explains, of course, why he was crying right afterwards when he called me and why he nearly fell apart after operating on you. Trust me, he cares for you," John reasoned._

"_Look, I don't know what happened between the two of you – it's not my place to interfere, like I said before, but as his, and, I hope, _your_ friend, I would appreciate it if the two of you kept your disagreements in private and keep from making me mediate between the two of you."_

_Artemis frowned. Did she consider Watson a friend? Certainly, she got on well with him, and he had been quite kind to her during her stay…so yes, she thought that they might well be on the road to becoming friends. As John awkwardly cleared his throat and returned to his own work, she found herself lightly tracing the thin line along her sternum. She vividly remembered that the last thing she saw before falling unconscious that day was him peering down at her, eyes wide in shock, with just the faintest hint of moisture welling out of those oceans. And Watson said that he had nearly fallen apart after she had gotten shot? A tentative smile grew on her face. Perhaps their relationship – whatever it was now – was still salvageable. She hoped so, despite the pain and bitterness between them now, she couldn't imagine a life without him in it. _No,_ she thought_, rather, a life without him in it isn't one worth living.

"She got shot?" Phoebe shouted.

"How incompetent can you be?"

"I wasn't aware you could pronounce polysyllabic words." Percy deflected, wincing as the gory image of her helpless body, bleeding out right in front of him, rose to the forefront of his mind again.

"And she's fine now, is she not?" he said roughly, fingers reaching into his pocket, curling around the plastic bottle he kept there for emergencies. He couldn't get that image of Artemis out of his head; his breath caught – the colours were so vibrant, even the rushing of the Tiber made him feel like he was standing next to the Reichenbach Falls. Before he could take out the bottle, John's face suddenly bloomed across his entire vision.

"Percy, focus on my face," He said, in that gentle yet firm voice near-patented by doctors, "Breathe slowly."

For the first time in a very long time, Percy decided to follow his doctor's instructions. _Thanks_, he nodded at John as his panic attack melted away. At a pointed glance from John, he reluctantly uncurled his fingers around the bottle, and started moving towards the Tiber, ignoring the startled looks that everyone else was sending him.

_Yes, it is most definitely capable of flashing, or an equivalent…so it would be impossible to track it down on foot…however…_Extending his senses, Percy tried to sense for any monsters…_lots of them crawling around near the Caldecott Tunnel…but I don't sense a strong aura that a monster that size should be giving off…monsters tend to be much stronger at night, therefore, if this hound is indeed leading the army, it's likely that it'll appear then. _

-Campsite in the middle of the Field of Mars-

"Make dinner!" Artemis demanded as she stood in front of Percy; he glanced up at her for a few seconds from his book – a rather fascinating read on biochemistry. He took a few brief moments to admire her angrily flushed, beautiful face, gaze lingering just below her collarbone for a moment, where a razor thin line stretched down her sternum. Even now, he still felt guilt whenever he looked at her; he had failed in his duty and she had very nearly paid the price for it. Quickly, he pressed his hand against his left coat pocket, relaxing as he realised his supply was still there. _Only for emergencies_, he reminded himself.

"Why should I?"

"Because you can magic it up." She pointed out.

"Yes. And as I recall, I told you that I'm not going to be your slave. If you want me to do things for you, then pay me."

The male demigod yelped as she snatched the book from his hands.

"I'm not giving that back until you make dinner." She threatened.

As he started to relent, Phoebe sneered out, "Why do you even bother with him, my Lady? He's nothing more than a burned out _hero_-"

_Last I checked, people's physical peak only ends in their early thirties, and I'm twenty…I don't know my exact age…twenty something this year_, Percy confided to the others, who were looking at Phoebe, completely stunned at her blistering tirade.

"- who abandoned us in our time of need-"

_Like I was Olympus' lapdog, running at its every beck and call_, he continued snarking; their lips twitched in amusement.

"- he is a disgrace and an embarrassment-"

"That's enough!" Yelled out Thalia, and, surprisingly, Artemis. Percy's gaze sharpened and focused on her left hand, absent-mindedly touching her sternum. _She KNOWS?_, he panicked. He turned to John, who was smirking at him.

_Judas! Why did you let her know? _John shrugged and beamed over.

_Well I certainly wasn't going to let her believe that incompetent saved her life._

Percy frowned at John as Thalia dragged Phoebe off for a 'chat'. He frowned as he noticed a light fog slowly rising out of the forest, only vaguely aware of Artemis standing in front of him, her mouth moving. _Temperature differential between dew point and ambient air is far too high, so not a natural fog…why does it seem so familiar?, _He wondered.

His eyes widened as he realised where he had seen this fog, this very particular fog once before; he rose and started running towards it as fast as he could, ignoring the others behind him shouting in surprise, plunging recklessly into the forest depths. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of something that might have been bare black fur, and he redoubled his pace. He growled as he realised that somehow, incredibly, whatever he was chasing was still outrunning him, and pulling away; abruptly, it vanished without a sound as Percy shot into a large clearing. Without so much as batting an eyelid, Percy swivelled and dived behind a nearby tree, drawing Riptide and his baton out.

_Ha, like it'll help you hide from something the size of a seven forty seven_, mind-John snarked.

A low growl sounded throughout the clearing; he could see ominously flashing red orbs, the length of his body in diameter, glaring straight at him. As the fog slowly cleared, his baton and Riptide fell from his suddenly nervous fingers. _WE HAVE TO GET AWAY FOM IT, WE MUSTN'T LET IT GET US! IT IS HIM!, _his mind shrieked out at him; for once, the voices were all in unison. _He's here…he's coming…_

"Are you alright?" Artemis asked Percy, whose lightly tanned face had suddenly paled. She stepped a little closer, trying to get a better look at his face, when he suddenly stood up and bolted for the woods at a such a speed that she was sure he could have outrun a speeding bullet.

"Wait!" she called out, blurring into motion herself. She snarled, exerting her powers over the wilderness; the trees and animals parted before her as she continued forward. She nearly tripped as two noises almost simultaneously sounded: a most definitely canine howl…and a cry of terror, that could only have come from a human…_Percy_, she realised. As she burst into a clearing, she could just barely make out an ominous black silhouette fading away, but the majority of her attention was drawn to the figure prone on the ground: Percy.

She bit back a gasp as she caught sight of his face: a pale pasty green that reminded her faintly of vomit. Artemis suddenly gasped as she felt the overwhelming urge to void her bowels as she glanced back at where the hound was, directly into its eyes even as it continued to fade away into nothingness. After what seemed like an eternity, it finally faded away; the painful icy grip of raw, unadulterated fear on her loosened its grasp and she began to breathe again. Her eyes widened as she gave the clearing a brief glance: no prints on the ground at all, nothing to indicate that the hound had been actually there…had it not been for the evidence of her own eyes, her body's betrayal of her, and Percy lying prone on the ground.

She slipped her arms around the male demigod and awkwardly hoisted him – _he's so light_, she mused in concern. As she set back to camp, she found herself glancing again at his face, now covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and felt a painful tug in her heart as he let out a moan stricken with agony. _What did that hound do to my Percy_?

-Tartarus, over ten years ago-

_Percy glanced back at Annabeth as they loped behind Iapetus and Damasen towards the elevator – the Tartarus side of the Doors of Death. _It would be so easy to just kill her now…she's most definitely a traitor, but if I kill her now, the two of them will most likely attack me and slow me down…and for some reason, she's still involved with the prophecy…one way or another. _Shaking his head, he cleared his mind of sombre thoughts, at least for the moment, but casually dropped his hand to Riptide anyway…just in case. _

_For a few moments, he thought that they were all going to make it, that if they could just get to the elevator door, then maybe he could jam the button with Iapetus' spear…obviously, he wasn't exactly a great judge of character when it came to Chase, but he _knew_ that the Titan and the Giant loping ahead of them were no threat to the Olympians._

No, it's more than that…they're my friends. We are friends. Bonded by trauma_, he told himself. He smiled._

"_It looks like we're going to get out of this stinking pit after all-"He broke off as he felt-rather-than-saw the shadows warping in front of the elevator, coalescing into a single mass._

"_Stinking? Stinking pit?" A hollow voice whispered, rolling across the plains. For a moment, the group of four were perfectly still in the silence that ensued – even the monsters ceased their wailing for several seconds. _

_Then a roar echoed throughout Tartarus: "STINKING PIT?"_

_Percy flinched as he beheld the being standing in front of the Doors: at around forty metres in height, it was far taller, far greater than any other deity he had met to date. Slowly, the figure shrank until it was perhaps only two and a half metres tall. Clad in a black plate armour, similar to that of a medieval knight's, he could faintly see a swirling darkness inside the slits of its visor, a darkness that he knew could swallow his entire being if it was so inclined. It spread its taloned hands, a low chuckle escaping its mouth, a trickle that cascaded into a pounding waterfall._

"_After so long, I have finally created a vessel for myself…so this is the manifestation of my power. So this is all that opposes me from joining my consort Gaea in the mortal world once our children have destroyed the gods. So this is you, Perseus Jackson, The Mortal God, The Supreme Demigod of the Modern Era. You're less impressive than I expected."_

Tartarus himself. _Percy licked his lips. 'How…how do you know my name?' he stalled, making little gestures with his hands for Iapetus and Damasen…and _Chase_, he thought with a flash of fury, to cut the chains on the Doors._

"_All who live in this pit know your name, all who have tasted your blade were sent here in death" it rumbled. As the primordial stepped towards him, closer and closer, he could feel an ever-growing need to void his bowels. _What a way to go that would be_, he snarked, slowly, trembling, raising Riptide. He vaguely noticed that behind the armoured figure, the chains had just snapped away from the Doors. _Excellent_. Although initially paralysed like himself, Damasen and Iapetus moved forward, circling the being – the traitor, he noticed, was pathetically feigning an attack from behind._

'If she was really serious about making a stealth attack, she wouldn't have let that drakon bone sword drag on the ground', _his mind pointed out_. _Tartarus took another step towards him_.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

_Then, as it lifted its left foot upwards, Iapetus snapped his spear outwards, in a manoeuvre that he doubted even Thalia could replicate, stabbing it deep into Tartarus' side. _

_At the same time, Small Bob leapt out of the Titan's shirt, growing as he flew through the air into a massive saber-toothed tiger. It swept its claws across the primordial's breastplate, sending Tartarus skidding backwards a few metres. _It – he – must not be used to having a physical form_, Percy reasoned as Damasen levelled his lance and charged forward at his father atop his Maeonian drakon. _

"_ENOUGH!" The primordial roared, stomping his foot; in an instant, the Titan and the Giant were blown away like leaves before an autumn storm, sent crashing solidly into the Doors as a wave of pure force erupted around Tartarus. Percy shivered and moved forward. _

How can you fight him, when even they could not?_, his mind mocked. _How can you stand against one who has endured since the beginning of time?

Because I made a promise that I would see them out of Tartarus with me.

A promise? To who, Jackson, do tell_, his mind sneered._

Oh, shut up,_ he told himself. _

No one…I just swore…to my soul! _And, having said that, he charged forward right at Tartarus._

"_Do you truly mean to fight me, _boy_?_" _The spirit of the abyss mocked as it swung its taloned hands forward, catching Riptide with ease._

_Tartarus snapped out his leg, forcing the demigod to hop back several metres. _

"_Allow me to show you what happens to those who oppose me." He rumbled, fingers reaching out to Iapetus. Percy felt a cold chill run down his spine. _

"_NO!" he screamed out, moving forward – whatever it was the primordial was going to do, he knew it wouldn't be healthy for the Titan. Although he was faster than any Olympian athlete could even dream of being, he knew that he wouldn't make it in time…luckily, he didn't need to, because just as the being's talons delicately kissed Iapetus' face, drawing thin rivulets of blood, the drakon's tail slammed right into Tartarus' torso, sending him stumbling backwards. _

_In an instant, Percy changed direction, and without hesitation, drove Riptide through the being's armour; golden ichor began gushing out of the primordial's body as he stabbed it a few more times just to be safe. Impossibly, incredibly, the primordial was still somehow feebly struggling to rise. _

"_Let's go!" Percy roared, scrambling for the elevator with the others – Chase, he noticed cynically, seemed to have collapsed. _How very…pathetic_, he mused, wondering whether he could get away with kicking her into the elevator. Whether he could have was a moot point, because the next moment, a sudden chill, an overpowering fear swamped his entire body as a lifeless grey mist suddenly fogged his vision – even the moment when Tartarus had blasted Damasen and Iapetus didn't compare to this sudden, primal terror that gripped every bit of his body. _

"_Destroy them, my Hound!" Tartarus boomed. _

_A howl erupted behind him, as he slowly turned himself around. He barely glimpsed whatever it was – a flash of black fur, monstrous, glowing red orbs filled with hatred, promising death…the force of the Hound's paw swipe sent him and Chase skidding backwards into the Door. _

_In response, as one the Titan and the Giant retaliated with a wave of pure force that, despite being able to send humans flying back hundreds of metres – which he could attest to from personal experience – barely moved the gigantic Hound back a few metres; momentarily stunned, the Hound swayed back and forth uncertainly, yelping as Not-So-Small-Bob and the drakon leapt onto it and started biting, slashing away with their claws…Percy's view of the spectacle was cut off as Iapetus moved protectively in front of himself and Chase, jamming the button with his spear. _

"_Tell the sun and the stars hello for me." The Titan said, half-turning to face the Hound and its master. _

"_I- I can't." Percy babbled, feeling moisture gathering in his eyes, knowing that this was quite possibly the last time that they would ever see each other alive. _

"_Yo- I, friend-"_

"_GO!" Iapetus roared at him, tears trickling out of his eyes. _

"_We are expendable, but _you_, you must live!"_

_Percy looked at the Titan – _really _looked at him. His lustrous, silver Einstein spiked hair had dulled into a steely grey, Percy realised with a shock as he took in the rest of the Titan's face: large black bags sagging under his eyes, his face was gaunt, haunted, with his cheekbones sharply prominent against his skin. Somehow, in that brief moment of contact, Tartarus had sucked the vitality out of Iapetus. _

_A chill ran down his spine as he sensed how weak the Titan's aura had suddenly become, and as he saw Tartarus incredibly getting to his feet – it wouldn't be much longer before the primordial had recovered enough to kill them all. After a long moment, the demigod nodded. _

"_I will save you, I swear it." he whispered as he threw Chase inside the elevator, grimly satisfied as she crashed into the wall. _

_As the elevator doors opened in the House of Hades, Percy glanced up at the lonely stars, twinkling in the night sky, and whispered…_

"_Bob says hello."_

-Present day-

Artemis gazed down at Percy's face as he continued tossing and turning intermittently. It looked…tormented, she decided. There were so many furrows and frown lines creasing his brow she thought – how she wished she could smooth them all away. Artemis frowned to herself.

_Where in the world did that come from? When had she started thinking of him as "hers"?_

"My Lady, what happened out there?" Phoebe asked respectfully, a little red-faced from embarrassment after Thalia's chewing out. Around her, Thalia, Angelo, Solace and Watson looked on expectantly for her tale.

"We saw it. A gigantic…Hound" Artemis replied, shivering as she remembered the apparition looming over the two of them.

"It…it was like nothing I've ever seen before," she continued, "It was…it was like Hades was present with his Helm of Darkness."

"Are you suggesting that my father had something to do with this?" Nico scowled.

"No, because I know for a fact that he would not risk the death of his Roman daughter. But that feeling…I've only ever felt like that when in the presence of Hades with his helm on-"

Artemis broke off as Percy suddenly stiffened, breathing deeply. Her eyes widened as he started thrashing around in his sleeping bag even more than before; she feared that said bag might very well get torn through his sheer strength if they didn't wake him up.

"Watson!" She called out.

"Help me-" she snarled as the male demigod's flailing fist clipped her jaw; in response she pinned it down, trying to hold him still.

"Wake him up!" She ordered.

"Pour some water on him!"

Mere seconds after John had dumped icy cold water from the Tiber on Percy, the soaking wet demigod stilled; his eyes opened, staring up blankly at the night sky. After a few moments, they refocused on Artemis.

"You…you saw it too?" he rasped out, gratefully accepting a drink of water from John. Artemis nodded, then stopped halfway through the process of lifting her head up, worried at the sudden pensiveness that had settled on her…colleague-friend.

Abruptly, Percy scowled to himself and dug his hand into his coat pocket as he walked away, tossing over his shoulder.

"Thanks for bringing me back to camp."

"Where are you going?" John called after him, gaze zeroing in on the hand Percy had in his coat pocket.

"I need some air."

John cursed under his breath and followed his friend as he stalked off, giving Artemis an apologetic glance.

"And this is the man who's supposed to-" Phoebe began, before promptly being slapped by Thalia, who was now quite literally a human lightning rod.

"I don't know what your problem is, but for the last time, Percy's leaving did not kill the Hunt!" She shouted at her subordinate.

"It wasn't his responsibility to defend the Hunt back then – it was mine! So if you want to blame someone, blame me, blame any of the other immortal campers, but don't you dare carry a grudge against him for something that he wasn't responsible for!"

Clearing his throat, Nico passed around some rations bars for dinner; in the awkward silence that ensued, nobody noticed Artemis had slipped off behind the pair of consulting detectives.

_I don't have long, John's going to be here any second now_, Percy panicked as he unscrewed the bottle and delicately picked out one of the anti-depressant pills inside. As he raised it towards his mouth, running just a little ahead of schedule, John slapped it out of his hand, ripping the bottle away from him the next moment.

"What did I say about using them?" John said in a calm, controlled voice that let Percy know he was absolutely furious.

"Not to." Percy said grudgingly.

"Now give them to me."

"NO!" John shouted.

"You think I haven't noticed you taking one every few hours every day since she got shot? You need to deal with this Percy, and using happy drugs is not the answer!"

"That's easy for you to say, you're not haunted by the body of someone you care about bleeding out right in front of your eyes!" Percy roared back, eyes flashing murderously. He instantly regretted it as he remembered just who he was talking to.

'"I _don't_, huh? I suppose that all those soldiers I saw die, on the battlefield, on the operating table, they were _nothing_, huh?" John said too-calmly.

"I saw them _die_ Percy, saw them die thinking that they died for nothing," He laughed hollowly, "And you know what? I think they were right," he admitted, before his voice hardened into steel, "But I didn't take drugs to manage it; nor should you, especially with your past drug history."

"I'm sorry." Percy told him, letting himself slide down against a tree, "I just-"

"I'm not finished."

"What do you want from me?"

"I don't know Percy, but I'm worried about you. I don't know how many times I can watch you cut off pieces of yourself like this. One day you're going to be in the ICU, then it'll be the morgue. You're miserable, and you're angry at yourself for not detecting that sniper, and I want you, to actually deal with that, and not just try to ignore it or medicate it away."

"You know what I feel right now? I don't feel miserable or angry, feel good or bad, I feel…nothing. It feels great."

John looked on at his friend sadly, pocketing his pills.

"Percy, please…" He pleaded.

The other male demigod cleared his throat, feeling awkward at being so vulnerable, even in front of John, and said, 'Let's go inspect that clearing for cl-'. He swivelled around, catching a hint of silver. 'I know you're there, Artemis' he sighed. 'You can come out now.'

Reluctantly, the former goddess stepped out from behind the tree she had used as cover.

"You never told me that you had a drug problem." She said slowly.

"It never exactly came up as a topic of discussion." He shrugged.

_And I don't need your pity_.

She looked at him – really looked at him, truly seeing him for the first time in over ten years. He looked…beaten. Her eyes narrowed as she detected a few grey hairs here and there about his head, the frown lines that only seemed to have become more pronounced…and inferring from what Watson had said, he'd only started spiralling downwards like this after she had been shot?

"Let's go look at that clearing." he said, determinedly not meeting her eyes – he didn't think that he could take the disappointment they would almost certainly have…angry, accusing…just like the silver eyes that, without fail, greeted him whenever he woke up.

-The Clearing-

"There are no prints here, _Holmes_." Phoebe pointed out; to her surprise, the consulting detective in question completely ignored her, face still a little pale as he looked around the clearing. She frowned as she saw the man trembling – despite her hatred of him she still respected his power…especially after those thrashings he had regularly given her whilst Artemis had still been a goddess.

_No prints, nothing to suggest at all that it was actually here, other than the fog and our reactions to it…but I saw it with my own eyes…_

_WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE, WE NEED TO GET AWAY, HE IS COMING, IT IS HIM!, _his mind screamed out.

"Shut up." He mumbled to himself as he stumbled around the clearing. As the others watched him in confusion, John, and, surprisingly Artemis, walked over to him and drew him aside.

"Percy, are you sure you didn't just hallucinate-" John started.

"She saw it too." Percy pointed at Artemis, who nodded in confirmation.

"We saw it, John. The Hound!" He said in a strangled whisper.

John reached out to steady his friend; he was swaying so much that John feared he might fall into a dead faint.

"Look, Percy, we have to be rational about this, OK? Now you, of all people…" He hesitated, and changed tack, "Let's just stick to what we know, shall we? Stick to the facts" He said instead, gesturing around at the clearing.

"No footprints on the ground, and the hound we're chasing after is the size of a jumbo jet.." Je stopped, eyes widening in disbelief as he saw how Percy was shivering even more now, mind torn in half between the past and the present, "Take it easy," He said softly, "You've been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you've just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up."

"Worked…up?" Percy hissed out; his trembling seemed to have stabilised at least. He laughed hollowly.

"Look at me John. I'm _afraid_." He bit out.

"For a long time now, I've been able to divorce myself from _feelings_…but my body's betraying me now. Interesting things, yes? Emotions – the grit on the lens, the antagonist of clear reasoning."

"You should probably calm down." Artemis said soothingly, placing a hand on her colleague-friend's shoulder, remembering how she had used to pacify him whenever he had a panic attack so long ago. What Artemis was _not_ prepared for, though, was the way he immediately stiffened under her touch – oddly, she felt a painful knot twisting in her stomach at his unease around her.

"There is nothing wrong with me, do you understand?" He hissed at them, taking deep breaths.

"You want me to prove it, yes? OK, fine, where shall we start? How about them?" He spat out, words almost stumbling over each other as he swivelled and pointed at Will Solace.

"Is he a surgeon? The answer's yes! 'How the hell do you know that Percy?' Because of his hands – well muscled from training and using a bow and sword, but surprisingly soft for a warrior, wouldn't you say? Their smell as well – from that, you can tell he's been using the beeswax lotion used by doctors to protect and moisturise their hands to keep them from being dry from latex gloves and repeat washings in the hospital, so, not too much of a leap then to say that he's a surgeon, or at least a doctor of some kind. Now, as for Thalia – she's a fan of the New York Times, yes? Yes! Why? Because she has newspaper ink smudges on her fingers, very distinctive ones I might add; and as for why it's the New York Times, I saw her folding it into her bag when she arrived at our house, and that's not cheating, that's observing, I use my senses, unlike some people – I could go on more and more, but I think I've made my point now, so just _leave. Me. Alone._" He growled out, not noticing that his voice had gradually risen in volume throughout his monologue until he had been practically shouting, drawing concerned looks from the others.

John and Artemis looked away from the furious demigod; as a result, they didn't register him wincing slightly and raising a hand to his head.

_It's getting worse. _

"As the Hound was leading an army of monsters against Camp Jupiter, and the first attack was unsuccessful, then it stands to reason that it would make a reappearance tonight." He ground out, hating how his tongue seemed to be resisting him.

"And what makes you say that" Artemis challenged. Percy stood up and pointed in the direction of camp; in the awkward silence that had fallen in the clearing, the clanging of weapons clearly reached them.

"Oh."

As one, they bounded for the camp; Percy spat out frantically:

"The Hound is a creature from the depths of Tartarus; its sheer presence induces fear that I can only describe as mind bending. From what I remember in my brief encounter with it in Tartarus…"

-Camp Jupiter, Field of Mars-

The Hound roared at Jason Grace, rearing up on its haunches and swiping downwards with its front paws; Jason flew up, paws missing him by mere centimetres, and tried to strike down with his gladius, only to freeze up, his blade dropping from suddenly nerveless fingers as the Hound flared its aura at him. It was so strong that, even without being the direct target of its assault, Artemis and the rest of the party, save for John and Percy stumbled – John because he was a trained soldier, Percy because despite his fear, right now, he was far too angry to be afraid. Still, if he was going to go up against the Hound up close, he would need some insurance… unnoticed by anyone, his hand slipped inside the breast pocket of his shirt.

The Hound roared, and pounced, only to be hammered by gale force winds that stopped it dead in the air. Grimacing and clenching his fist, the young god unknowingly tried to do what his sister had done to Hyperion a while back – he tried to remove all the air around the Hound to suffocate it, then suddenly relinquish his grasp over the wind to smash it into oblivion. Sadly, the simple logistical fact of the Hound being the size of seven forty seven escaped the young god; caught up in trying to wrap an airless bubble around the Hound, he received a paw swipe for his troubles that smashed him halfway across the camp, forming a crater two metres deep and five metres in diameter.

It was to this that Artemis and the others found themselves bursting in upon; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hol-_Percy_ trembling a little. For a moment, she briefly thought of reaching out to comfort him, help him steady his nerves. Then the Hound turned and roared. With the ease born of millennia of practice, she called her bow to her and began to fire, along with Thalia and Phoebe; their combined onslaught seemed as a silvery purging rain falling down from the heavens upon a grotesque denizen of Hell – more specifically in this case, Tartarus.

The Hound seemed to be chuckling – a low, rolling growl that resounded throughout camp like a gong of death. Then it flared its aura, mist suddenly rolling off its skin in vast spurts that oddly reminded her of blood pouring out of a human body. And then the screaming began.

Percy scowled as Not-Thalia collapsed into a foetal position, screaming – couldn't she at least have the courtesy to scream somewhere else, or at least when he didn't have a killer headache pounding in his skull? He glared at those crimson spheres that had often tortured him in his sleep, knowing that the owner of those orbs was the reason why two of the best people he had ever known were trapped in Tartarus…the reason he had been forced to abandon them. Then the Hound spoke – a harsh grating sound that only served to redouble the pain in his skull.

"So, you have come." It rasped out, and swept its paw at Phoebe, Thalia and Artemis, the latter two having since collapsed onto their knees. Swearing as he realised John, Nico and Will seemed to be momentarily frozen, he grabbed Thalia and Not-Thalia, and pivoted, tossing them behind him. As he came about to face Artemis, he wrapped the woman in his arms and awkwardly jumped over the incoming paw – not enough though. Percy bit back a scream as his left leg got clipped; he thought that he could see his femur breaking skin.

Artemis stared blankly as Percy landed on his injured leg.

"Percy, you-"

"Yes." he grunted, gently touching his ruined appendage; before her eyes, the flesh knit itself back together, bone welding itself together and moving back into place, with an audible, gruesome _snap_. Almost before it had stopped healing, Percy had moved over to John, forcing a pill down his throat. "The antidepressants can temporarily counteract the Hound's fear inducing capabilities," He explained, "You might want to use your powers to increase their onset of action and potency in general." He added as he turned to face the Hound.

_I _will_ kill you_, he vowed to himself. He charged forward. The Hound chuckled again, sending another flash of excruciating pain through Percy's mind even as it lazily lifted a paw, ready to smash the audacious demigod. Taking a deep breath, Percy pushed away the pain, focusing entirely on the paw pulling back, drawing deep upon the power inside him. Just as the appendage seemed to have reached the apex of its path, about to descend upon him with the force of a thousand men, Percy _released _his power.

The Hound yelped in surprise as a sudden hurricane formed around the demigod. Only, this was no ordinary hurricane; far stronger than even the winds Jason had thrown against it before, the Hound was flung backwards, despite digging its paws into the ground, skidding all the way across camp until it reached the Tiber. _Perfect_. Two massive aqueous hands rose from the river and began to pummel the Hound; its cries of agony seemed to echo throughout the hills. Yet, impossibly, it rose, and roared, preparing to obliterate the man that had dared to defy it. As it crouched, preparing to pounce against its mortal enemy – the one man who had ever escaped it – the sky screamed, splitting apart, a massive forked lightning bolt suddenly illuminating the heavens. The Hound arched its back, throwing its head back in agony.

Quick as thought, Percy responded, the hands suddenly melting away, wrapping the beast inside a massive bubble of water. Yet from the thrashing inside, even that wouldn't hold for long, he knew._ Some more help right now would be appreciated_, he broadcast to his companions, grimacing and falling to his knees as the beast continued to resist.

Just as he realised that he had to release it, or risk dying himself, the Hound's struggles began to weaken, and he felt Will's hand on his shoulder, bolstering him with his own strength. He held the Hound as long as he dared, and then released it, collapsing onto his knees. And then, what he could only describe as a complete blitzkrieg began.

Thalia was raining down lightning bolts from the heavens, even as she, along with Not-Thalia and Artemis, began sending out a rain of arrows that blotted out the skies. As he watched, Nico shadow-travelled directly to the Hound, moving until he was right in front of the hellish pits that served as eyes, plunging his Stygian iron blade deep inside. The Hound _howled_, shaking di Angelo off, staggering onto its paws, only to be pounded down again by Thalia. And then a wide beam of radiant golden light blasted through the creature, leaving a wide, gaping hole through its chest, about a metre wide – right through its heart.

_But for a creature that size, even that wound won't kill it immediately_, Percy mused from his slumped position as the Hound weakly tried to get to its feet. And then massive spears of darkness, far larger than anything he had ever seen Nico produce before, rose up, skewering the Hound. The creature howled mournfully, holding it for several seconds, before it gave a great shudder, and, at last, was still.

-A few minutes later-

"Oh, this case Thalia, it's been brilliant!" Percy exclaimed, spinning around frenetically, feverishly. John's eyes widened in shock as he took in the flushed, yet somehow deathly pale face, the rapid, laboured breathing, the swaying movements. Concerned, he reached out and put a hand on his friend's shoulder to still him, surreptitiously sending in a pulse of power simultaneously to scan his vitals. His eyes widened as he felt the man's heart rate –

Twenty beats per minute…..

And _dropping_.

"Percy,' he said slowly, "Your heart…"

And, having said that, his best friend collapsed to the ground, face suddenly beady with sweat.

The tall blue-eyed man smiled wolfishly at the woman in front of him.

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Charles Augustus Magnussen."

_**Author note: First off, I have some great news for all of you - CrazyBearFaria has volunteered to be the beta reader for this work, so please give him/her a standing ovation everybody :). CBF is a pillar in the PJO fandom - at least, to me, he is - so I definitely recommend checking out their stories as well!. Unfortunately, I also have some rather bad news: I have recently started my first year of university (or college, I believe the term is, if you are American), and my workload is rather intense at the moment...so I will most likely not be able to publish chapters as fast as I did before. However, do not fear, because just for you loyal fans, I am staying up at night tirelessly, and will try to get out at least 2-4 chapters before August. Thanks so much for your loyalty, readers both new and old, and I hope that this new chapter is to your liking. In concluding, I'll include a little light-hearted teaser for the future at the bottom of this page, especially since this story is going to take a rather dark and grim turn very soon. In concluding, as ever, please leave a review! :)**_

_Beta Note: _

_Why hello there folks, my name is Crazybearfaria, and I am now (somehow) the beta for this story with my partner in crime, Phoenix. _

_This is my first official beta-ing, so let me know if I did an okay job. I had to do this whilst I had the flu, so there may be an odd mistake or two, but as I go back and check-up on the rest of the stories chapters, I will make sure that this one is also not spared any scrutiny. _

_Anyways, enough outta me, I have Call of Duty to get back to! _

_Keep it real folks. _

_CBF. _

**Teaser: **

Dimly, she heard him say, "I feel the same", his own arms tentatively wrapping themselves around her. Drunk as she was with the feeling of being with him, she leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling faint pinpricks in his eyes.

Percy's voice – panicked, dimly said, "Are – are you crying Moonlight?"

"Good tears Percy. Good tears" she whispered back, quickly wiping her eyes. She pulled back slightly to look at him, and saw his deep sea green eyes – caring, worried, and a hint – just a hint – of what she thought might be affection. In that moment, she knew that she was head over heels for Perseus Jackson, and she was powerless to stop it. Briefly, her mind flitted to the Artemis of ages past – would she have been disappointed, angry at her present self for falling in love with a member of the species she had so professed to hate for so very long?_ No_, she assured herself,_ she would have approved of it._ The Artemis of before Percy Jackson wouldn't have been disappointed, or even sad. She would have been happy that the person she had fallen for was Percy Jackson, who, despite all his faults, was the best and the wisest man she had ever known. She didn't regret falling for him for even a second. And so, acting on that niggling impulse that had wormed its way into her brain almost the moment she had met him, that only now roared and forced itself to the forefront of her mind, she did something that she never thought that she would do, not even with Orion – before she had discovered that he was a rapist, the epitome of what she had taught her Hunters to avoid – had she even flirted with the notion. She kissed him.


End file.
